Child's Mind
by MistressOfRobins
Summary: Small boys become big men, through the influence of big men, who care about small boys... The story of how Bruce, Oliver, Barry and Clark became fathers. Alternate Reality&Family centric. Prequel to: "Child's Play".
1. Part 1: Not Flesh and Blood

This is the **companion piece** to **Child's Play**, an **ADC **(Alternatate DC Univserse) FanFiction. I do recommend checking that one out before reading this fanfic, which will have scenes **before** the storyline of **Child's Play. **But it can be read as a stand-alone too.

I will say it once more, this is _not_ set on Earth-16 canon verse. It's my own little universe. A new earth or whatever, maybe? Point is, this has never intended to be anywhere near canon. It is written for my own enjoyment and hopefully others'! :)

* * *

><p><strong>Child's Mind<strong>

**Part: I**

* * *

><p><em>"It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons."<em>

_~ Johann Schiller_

**-o-**

Gotham City, 2002

Gotham City was burning. The flames were licking their way up various buildings and vehicles, while the explosions were finally getting fewer over the pavements and roads. Dust, gravel, smoke – it swirled around everywhere, blinding the mass of panicking people that scattered around in every direction.

Screams in terror and fright sounded all over the city. Gotham was filled with chaos. Utter and complete chaos.

During the years this dark city had gone through a lot of downfalls. Its crime record had been off the charts; the atmosphere had become darker and grimmer for each year that had passed and the City had even been described as corrupted. It had been changed though after the hero known as Batman had started roaming the streets. Conveniently, Bruce Wayne had also started making a difference for the city by refreshing his company, Wayne Industries.

For a long time Gotham had bloomed, but now it had never looked worse – its current state was disastrous.

The Dark Knight of Gotham was standing in an abandoned street of his home. His chest was rising up and down due to heavy panting; his cape was torn several places and one black glove was missing from his costume. The visible hand was badly burnt, but he did, of course, not show any sign of pain.

By Batman's feet lay Gotham's number one villain. The Joker, homicidal maniac and archenemy of Gotham's protector, was unconscious, heavily beaten up and his ridiculous, purple tuxedo was ripped in more places than Batman could count. Even unconscious the psychopath had that eerie grin on his face. It made his blood boil and the temptation of crunching every bone in Joker's body became harder to ignore.

This time, the maniac had truly outdone himself. To think that this was what happened when someone like the Joker watched poorly made reality shows and switched over to a bloody thriller movie afterwards. Ideas and imagination – it was truly the most dangerous abilities the human mind possessed.

With a fierce sneer, Batman took a hold of the Joker and hoisted him up against the closest wall. With his archenemy tied up and hearing sirens of police cars getting closer, Batman began his stroll through his burning city. Feelings of guilt and contempt swelled up in his chest as he looked around in the abandoned streets.

The people had fled from the most dangerous parts of the city, though there were probably a couple of areas in Gotham that was still populated with people that needed help. Surely, the police were getting to it, but a final act of heroism for tonight he could endure. Briskly, Batman pushed a button on his glove, before he began walking once again. The Batmobile appeared soon after; bulky and a bit shabby looking, but still all right.

The Caped Crusader headed to an area strongly lit up by what could only be uncontrollable flames. Now that the cause of the fires and explosions was handled, it was up to the fire department of Gotham to deal with it. Even so, they, most likely, had their hands full and despite his arching pains Batman would not retreat before he was sure the most exposed place had been taken care of.

Haly's Circus had picked a bad weekend to stay in Gotham. The flames were now licking up on its two circus tents and various caravans suffered the same fate. Firemen were doing their best to put the fire out, but it was easy to see it was still out of control.

Quickly, Batman exited his vehicle, putting an extra glove over his wounded hand as he did so. Thereafter he eyed the burning circus with narrowed eyes. He turned his head, just in time to discover a heated conversation between what seemed to be the circus owner and chief of the fire department.

"You don't understand! There's a _family_ in there; the Flying Graysons were practicing! You've got to-"

Batman didn't wait to hear more. His suit was only mildly fire resistant; nevertheless, it was better than those of the fire department and therefore he knew he was the one who had to act. Quickly, he charged through what used to be the tent's entrance. He made sure his cape was in front of his face as he put on an oxygen mask and then Batman scoured the area.

Through the smoke he could make out fallen circus equipment on fire and he quickly noticed, much to his dismay, that both poles inserted to hold the tent up was being eaten up by the fierce flames.

_Terrific_, thought Batman bitterly.

It was then he heard it. Desperate sobbing.

The tent was large, but it didn't take long before the Caped Crusader spotted the source. In the middle of the ring, surrounded by fire and smoke sat a small child and by him lay two bodies. A man and woman, with legs and arms spread out in weird angles. It didn't take Batman long to understand what had happened.

A crashing protest from the poles caught Batman's attention. Knowing the tent would not hold much longer, Gotham's protector darted over to the crying child. It was a boy, with coal black hair and a small, lithe body. His hands were in front of his face and those rested on the chest of what had to be the boy's father.

Batman saw with ease that it was too late. Neither the woman nor the man's chest was moving. And, if one measured the height they most likely had fallen from it said itself that no ordinary human could survive such a fall. That did not mean he would leave the bodies here; these people deserved a proper funeral.

His eyes scanned the area, silently observing that the crying child hadn't noticed his presence. White eyes, due to the cowl, landed on the wire that lay only a couple of metres away from the child and his dead parents. With narrowed eyes Gotham's protector silently grabbed for it. The wire looked like… someone had _cut_ it. There were no burn marks.

Another protest from the tent's poles snapped him out of his thoughts. Swiftly, Gotham's protector crouched down and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. The child hadn't any time to up to see who had approached him before the Bat had scooped him in under his cape. He then threw the boy's deceased parents over his shoulder.

As fast as he could he started running through the tent.

Flaming parts of it were falling and smoke was emitting around the whole area. Batman, knowing the crying boy was going to inhale too much of the toxic air, wrapped his cape tighter around him, not caring that the shrill sobs from the child became louder and more desperate.

After this, he doubted the boy would ever be the same. Just like he had never been the same since that fateful day so many years ago.

The tent was starting to fall, but Batman was fast, despite his injuries. They were out in matter of seconds, only to be greeted by falling rain. The Dark Knight was silently relieved that the sky had started weeping for their wrecked City. The fires would be easier to handle when mother nature was helping out.

With the sobbing child still moving uncontrollably under his cape, Batman approached the circus owner and commissioner Gordon. Both looked up, eyes widening slightly as he laid the dead bodies of John and Mary Gryason down onto the ground, gently, of course. True enough, Batman was not known for being a tender person, quite the contrary actually, but he always honoured the dead.

Especially this unfortunate situation. Hopefully, the sobbing child who was still underneath his cape had other relatives. Not that it would ease the pain, but at least that way the boy wouldn't be left on his own.

Batman moved his cape to the side and placed the boy down, not the least surprised to see the quivering body of the helpless child. He was sobbing endlessly and looked up to at the Caped Crusader with big, blue eyes, tears rolling down his small cheeks.

It was the first time he made eye contact with the child he'd rescued and the moment he did something stirred within Bruce's heart. Said eyes held the same pain he himself had possessed so many years ago. There was a clear difference though; this boy was so much younger than he had been. Five or four years younger, judging by his appearance, and looked so lost, so _alone_.

It truly reminded him so much of himself.

"Dick, sonny, I'm so sorry," the circus owner said, crouching down and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. Haly's face was pale, his eyes expressing pure sadness as he looked over his top artists. The Flying Graysons, had been divided by death. As the now-orphan turned and pressed his face against his chest, Haly briefly wondered how the world could be this cruel. "It's okay, Dick," he whispered, though deep down he knew how foolish that sounded. "It's going to be okay, son. I promise."

The Caped Crusader watched the scene with pursed lips, before he looked up at the Commissioner. "How are the rest of the fires?"

"Under control. Most of them are now getting put out as we speak, the Joker has been taken to Arkham and luckily none of the other criminals escaped during his attack," Gordon explained as he pinched the bridge of his nose. This sort of nightmare was probably not something the other man appreciated very much. Batman, himself, could relate.

How Bruce Wayne was going to explain his burnt hand he had to find an answer to later.

The sound of a phone broke through the air and Gordon quickly put it to his ear. Batman used some time to scout the area; things were looking better. Sure enough, Gotham was filled with smoke, but there was not much more the Batman could do. The fire department and Gotham's finest were fully capable of taking care of the rest. Besides, as a superhero he had done his job. It was time to head home.

Impassively, he turned to James Gordon whose eyes were expressing the commissioner's exhaustion quite evidently. "The fire department has searched the entire area. No one is currently in danger of the fires that are still going on and police department is handling the evacuated people. Those who lived nearest to the most smoke exposed areas won't return before forty eight hours. The others that isn't need of any services are allowed to go home," informed Gordon, before giving Batman a nod toward his hand; the glove had been ripped and left the burnt flesh completely exposed. "As should you. That burn doesn't look good."

Batman hadn't forgotten about his hand, but he'd been fighting crime for quite some time now and therefore had learned to keep feelings like pain in check. To a certain degree, of course. No matter how much one wanted to, pain could only be ignored for so long. Eventually, it would catch up to him. To be honest, he appreciated that the commissioner himself had dismissed him.

Subconsciously, he turned to look down at the sobbing boy who was being soothed by the circus owner. Neither looked like they were going to remove themselves from the dead bodies anytime soon.

With no emotion showing, Batman turned once again to look at Gordon. "I'll be back to investigate the remains of the circus tent. I have a theory that the Graysons death was no accident and that their lost their lives before Joker's major attack on Gotham. For the time being, you and I should keep that to oursevles though."

Before the commissioner could answer, the Bat had leaped and landed inside the Batmobile, whom Gordon felt had appeared out of nowhere. Sounds from the engine were heard, before the dark vehicle disappeared in a puff of smoke.

James Gordon watched after it, before turning his eyes toward the sky. The rain was still falling.

**-O-**

"Mr. Wayne, are you completely certain of this? You're so young, so maybe a child will be, just a bit too much to handle?"

Bruce felt his lips purse together, his inner turmoil far too great now for him to keep up the all too charming side of the Wayne heir. He leaned back in the chair, dark eyes eyeing the woman seated opposite of him. Her curly, blonde hair was put up in what supposedly was a _bun_, if the billionaire was not mistaken. The haircut looked rather sloppy; though the bright pink blouse and skirt she was wearing probably captured all attention, therefore it seemingly didn't matter.

For the last hour where he had been discussing his purpose for showing up at her office, she had asked the same question (subtly, and with a different way of _forming _the sentence, yes, but still the same meaning nonetheless) at least seven times. Smart as he was, he had understood _why_ a long time ago, but it made him angry just sparing her disrespectful behaviour a thought, so he had tried pushing it aside.

Obviously, judging by who he dressed as at night, Bruce Wayne was intelligent beyond compare. Already, by just staying with this woman for an hour, he had concluded that Gotham City Orphanage was in a bad shape. Not only did it seem that its employees needed a makeover, but he had thrown a look at how the building itself was faring and come to a conclusion; _Arkham_ looked more up-to-date than this particular facility.

"Miss Halsey," Bruce spoke up, trying hard not to express how tired he was of being in the same office as her. Her ignorance and lack of empathy was fairly irritating. "If I'm not wrong we've gone through the exact procedure necessary for a legal adoption. If I wanted to change my mind I can assure you I would have done that a long time ago. Now, if you don't mind…" the billionaire subtly took one of the pens the blonde woman had on her desk. "… I would like the adoption papers."

She seemed baffled by his determination and it made him, unnoticeably, grit his teeth. It was not unclear that to him that Gotham Orphanage's supervisor held no affection for children at all. Personally, he found it very unfitting that someone within her kind of field didn't possess any empathy for the children she was set to look after.

The skinny woman sent him another hesitant look, before she took hold of the stack of papers and placed them gently before him. He knew her blue eyes were set on him the whole time as he filled them out. Probably, she was trying to fathom as to how one Gotham's wealthiest men was currently desiring to adopt a mere circus orphan. She didn't know that ever since Bruce had watched his parents die in the hands of a villain he had been driven by a need to save and protect people.

And Richard John Grayson, the boy he had rescued from the flames three weeks ago, was like the splitting image of himself. Only younger and therefore in desperate need of someone to give him the childhood he needed. Considering the fact that some of the circus folk had lost in court, after wishing for full custody over the boy, Bruce had decided, after discussing with Alfred, of course, that Richard Grayson needed him.

Besides, there was something about that young acrobat that had caught his attention. The same pain he himself had felt had been so evident, but also, in a way, it was _stronger_. Because this child was so young, so _helpless_. Unlike Bruce, who'd had Alfred back during his dark days, Richard Grayson had no one anymore. He was all alone, but Gotham's White Knight was about to change that.

"All right then," said Miss Halsey as she stood up from her chair. "I'll take you to him."

The stroll down the corridors of Gotham City Orphanage was a quiet one, thoroughly lacking any sound that one usually could expect from boys from three to thirteen years old. Miss Halsey had briefly mentioned that most had been escorted to the dining hall for breakfast, while others had yet to wake up. Since they were currently heading in another direction, Bruce supposed that Richard was not one of them.

They entered a shabby looking hallway where the wallpaper was peeling off the walls. Bruce raised a silent eyebrow, deciding for himself that Wayne Industries were definitely going to do something about this place. Granted, he had always been more focused on the Children's Hospital of Gotham, but this place clearly needed some caring. These were orphans – children with no parents. And he had been one of those children ones.

A part of him felt somewhat ashamed that he hadn't thought of helping the orphanage before now.

"Here he is," Miss Halsey told, her voice far from as falsely cheerful as it had been when Bruce first had entered the building. He had a clear suspicion that his lack of interest in her was the cause of it.

With a slight nod in her direction, Bruce opened the door that read '35' with brown, wooden letters.

The first thing that came to the billionaire's mind was the small size of the bedroom. He briefly concluded that Dick impossibly could have roommates, but he was proven wrong as Miss Halsey appeared by his side and turned on the light. "Mister Grayson, Mister Charles and Mister Bucker, it's time to get up," she announced; for Bruce it sounded far too jovial to be sincere.

Said dark man felt the anger within him rise somewhat when he noticed _three_ beds, crumpled, slender and put fairly close to one another. Honestly, together they looked like they made a king sized one; that was how thin they were.

Two young boys, both blond haired and probably around the age of six stuck their heads out from under the duvets, eyes widening when they saw who was standing in the door with their supervisor. The stern look Miss Halsey sent their way, however, made them quickly leap over to the door that Bruce guessed was a small bathroom to complete the _charming_ bedroom.

It was first when his roommates slammed the doors shut that something moved within the duvet lying in the bed furthest to the left. Then came a face from under it. Big, innocent blue eyes met Bruce's and once again the billionaire felt the same… _unusual_ kind of emotion he'd felt the first time their eyes met. There was something about this child that he couldn't put his finger on. For no reason Bruce could find, he felt some sort of relief that the adoption had gone as flawlessly as it had.

"Richard, this is Bruce Wayne," explained Miss Halsey as she made a hand gesture toward the tall, muscular man beside her. "He's come to take you home. He wants to _adopt_ you."

Well, at least her voice was rather gentle when she empathised on the word 'adopt', but Bruce still felt she was handling this the wrong way. Therefore, despite the largely offended look she sent him, he walked into the room and crouched softly in front of the bed. Richard, small as he was, looked at him from underneath the duvet. The child looked so _lost_, so… _afraid_. Yet, when their eyes met, he determinedly lifted the duvet somewhat away and sat up.

_Brave little kid, eh?_ thought Bruce. For the first time in years, he actually felt like smiling. He knew himself that he wasn't the most welcome looking person when it came to appearance. He was too big, too tall and intimidating, usually. This little guy, however, was tough. Bruce could tell.

"Dick, that's what they call you, right?" Bruce said, his voice gentle. When he received a nod from the four-year-old, he chose to continue. "Listen, you don't have to come with me unless you want to, but if you do you'll get a new room, a bed all for yourself and big house you can play around. But, as I said only if you want to. You can also stay here. It's up to you."

"Mommy and Daddy aren't here anymore," whispered the kid, throwing a nervous glance over at Miss Halsey who looked more interested in her nail-polish than what was going on inside the bedroom. "But, I'm gonna stay with you anyways?"

"Yes, but only if you want to."

The little boy bit his lip, before nodding his head up and down. "Okay," he said.

Bruce didn't know why, but hearing the kid say it eased him. It was like a heavy burden had been lifted from his broad, strong shoulders.

**-O-**

Never had Richard stood under such a big roof; a circus tent, yes, but never had he been inside a building with such great size. Blue eyes were looking up at the ceiling, his four-year-old brain trying to comprehend _why_ someone lived in such big houses. This manor could hold four or maybe even _five_ of his family's entire van. No maybe even more than that. Maybe ten or twelve or maybe a _hundred_.

For a moment, the boy felt like grinning, his mind imagining how it would look like with a hundred vans inside his new home. However, the thought of said vehicle made him remember why he was in a new house in the first place and his expression turned solemn. Mommy and Daddy wouldn't join him here. He was going to live with Mr. Wayne now and he was going to take care of him instead.

As if a cue, Bruce entered the hallway, closing the large doors behind him. Richard took his time studying the man he would now be living with. He was so _tall_, muscular and with big hands that Dick had discovered could swallow his own little ones whole. He had namely reached out and held his hand when Miss Halsey had tried to say goodbye. Her ugly lipstick face had been too close to his and he'd gotten scared.

Kind of pathetic, but if anyone had been that close to her they would've reacted the same way.

Mr. Wayne came up to him and Dick bowed his little head _way _back so he could look up at the big man before him. Bruce cleared his throat somewhat, before he crouched down again, still not completely at the same eye-level as his newly adopted son, but still closer to the boy's face.

"So, Richard," Bruce said with a small smile. "You want to see your bedroom?"

The little boy opened his mouth, preparing to answer, but was interrupted as an old man entered the hallway. He was also tall, but not nearly as tall as Mr. Wayne was. He was bald and possessed a grey moustache and friendly, blue eyes. "Ah Master Bruce," he said as he approached them both. "I was wondering when you would show up." The blue eyes then turned to Dick, which made the boy instantly look away, a small blush on his face. "I take it this must be young Master Richard."

Nodding, Bruce stood up. His hand gently touched the back of Dick's head, but only barely due to the boy's small size. "Yes, Richard; I want you to meet Alfred Pennyworth. He took care of me when… I was in the same situation as you."

"Si-tuation," repeated Dick a bit puzzled, before he silently approached the old man, blue eyes looking curiously up at the butler. "You clean here?"

The innocent question made Alfred smile. "Actually, Master Richard I do quite much more than that. I've been serving this household since Master Bruce was far younger than you," said the butler. "Everything is settled for you upstairs, so if you wish I'm sure Master Bruce will show you where to put your… luggage."

Gotham's famous playboy let his eyes drop to the small backpack Richard had draped over his shoulders. It was coloured crimson with many red birds adorning it. The boy's name was written with big, sloppy, capital letters. Richard had, without a doubt, done that himself.

That backpack wasn't much though. The kid would require some new clothes, footwear and, if Bruce was not mistaken, some toys would probably be good for him too.

"I'll take Dick upstairs, Alfred," said Bruce, briefly glancing down at his wristwatch. "We'll be back down for supper in a minute."

"As you wish, sir," answered the butler.

Shortly after, Richard was led to what the four-year-old could only describe as the biggest bedroom he'd ever seen. It didn't hold much besides a king sized bed (which for a small kid like himself looked like a giant trampoline), a nightstand with a black lamp and a dresser. The windows were large, causing the sun's rays to engulf the room swimmingly. Dick couldn't help but notice the cold and open space though.

The little acrobat was far from used to such big surroundings.

Without a word, Dick walked up to the nightstand, which went up to his little chest. Then he pushed the lamp lightly aside, before he removed his backpack from his shoulders and laid it on the bed. Bruce watched a bit puzzled as the little child climbed up and placed himself there.

What was the boy doing?

The answer was given to him quickly. After Richard had briefly unzipped his backpack the black haired boy pulled out two picture frames. It wasn't before Dick had placed them on his nightstand that Bruce realised what adorned the photos inside. Even from the distance he had from the nightstand, he could make out their smiling faces. On the first picture, Richard was to the right; his father's arm wrapped tightly around his knees as Dick was seated on is arm. The boy's mother had her husband's free hand around herself as she smiled into the photo.

It was a good picture.

The other was nothing less than Mary and John's wedding photo. It was easily confirmed by her beautiful, white wedding dress.

A bit hesitantly, Bruce made his way over to his new son, or at least new charge. He sat down on the bed and reached out to place his hand onto Dick's small shoulder. The boy's eyes had been gazing sadly at the pictures; he looked like he was going to cry and yet, he didn't. Bruce couldn't quite understand why Dick tried being so brave. The little child was only _four_.

"I miss Mommy and Daddy," whispered the former circus boy, not bothered the least by his new parent's hold on him. Instead, he leaned somewhat into the touch, pulling his knees up to his chest so he could wrap his own arms around them. Bruce noticed the little child swallowing, before he turned to look at him with teary blue eyes. "Do you… don't you have a Mommy or Daddy?"

"No," Bruce said, far softer than he thought he could muster. He surprised even himself. "Mine died when I was eight. Alfred took care of me after that, but even now when I'm twenty-nine I miss them with all my heart. You will always miss them, Dick, but as you get older it will get _better_. For me, that was what mattered. That… it got… _better_."

Truthfully, Bruce felt a bit unsure if he'd managed to sound comforting and his doubt didn't stop growing when he noticed small teardrops run down Dick's small cheeks. It broke his heart. A heart Bruce thought he had been put on ice ever since he took on the mantle of Batman. It seemed even the Bat had a heart and for this particular boy, for reasons Bruce could still not fathom, it beat hard and steady.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," whispered Dick with a sniffle.

"You don't have to call me that, Dick," Bruce said gently. Subconsciously, he reached out and wrapped an arm around both of the boy's shoulders. Blue eyes looked up to meet him. "I'm never going to ask you to call me 'dad' or anything like that, but you're more than welcome to call me Bruce."

"Bruce?"

"Yes, if you want to."

Dick nodded softly. "Okay… Bruce."


	2. Part 2: Feels Just Like Home

**Child's Mind**

**Part: II**

* * *

><p><em>"Now I realize, there's so much more to feel<em>  
><em> And my heart knows it's real<em>  
><em>But part of me, so long forgotten, is calling, and this feels like home<em>  
><em> Home, home, it feels just like home"<em>

_~ Melissa Etheridge & Josh Kelley ("Feels Just Like Home" lyrics)_

**-o-**

Gotham City, 2002

Adjusting to having a four-year-old child within the manor was not as easy as Bruce had hoped it would be. However, when he gave it some thought, he realised he'd been sort of naïve and that his move on taking in a child at such a young age had been rather _bold_. He was, still, in his twenties, despite that thirty was dangerously approaching, with no experience of supporting a kid at _all_.

Alfred had praised him for his good job at handling the boy with his sorrow. _But_, bringing the boy comfort when grieving was something completely different from everything else parenting involved.

Understandably, Dick hadn't been like most four-year-olds the first couple of weeks. Plagued by nightmares and sorrow, the boy had been unnaturally quiet for someone his age. At night Bruce often would let him sleep in his bed. He watched as Dick cried and listened when the boy talked about his mother and father. Sometimes, he felt like he made a great difference, other times, he felt useless.

Naturally, both Bruce and his butler had been most aware that the boy needed time to get used to his new surroundings, his new home and to not live with his parents. Sure enough, it had been a month and two weeks since John and Mary Grayson had died, a case the Batman was still setting of time for at least an hour per night even if he was a busy Bat, but no one could blame Dick for being silent.

It was more than expected.

However, as the weeks flew by and Dick was starting to adjust to his new life Bruce discovered that having a hyperactive four-year-old (who was an _acrobat_ nonetheless), brought with several difficulties.

The small boy's attention span was fairly small. One moment Dick would be occupied, the next he could be gone. This often led to quite a goose chase, mostly on Alfred's part since Bruce was rarely home during daytime. The elder would often find the boy inside various closets, drawers and sometimes small places even the butler had only chastely known existed within the manor. Needless to say, Alfred had his hands full.

Dick would also go around questioning everything and everyone, which Bruce, for one, was not used to. Of course he tried to answer and get used to the small child's curiosity; when he was present, at least. Unfortunately, there was something else that clashed with this whole parenting thing – namely Bruce's work at Wayne Industries, along with his work as the Batman.

It had been quite apparent for Alfred that whenever Bruce went away Dick's usually bouncy attitude would fade. It when was the master of the house was not present that Richard's face would be filled with sadness. The butler, when Dick didn't occupy himself with 'hide and seek' often found him sitting in one of the armchairs stored in the living room. His eyes always looked at the photo of his parents.

Sometimes, Alfred would leave the child be, knowing that the young boy had to deal with the death of his parents whatever way that was best for him. Then, there were times were the old man would put a hand on Dick's shoulder, wipe away a tear or two that had fallen from his eyes and then ask if he wanted to help him bake or cook in the kitchen. Usually, that occupied Dick's mind for quite a while, but the butler was most aware it would not be enough.

Bruce's constant absence was not doing Dick any good. The boy needed his new father figure and the Caped Crusader needed to see that taking care of the child they had taken to live with them was more important than anything else.

It was because of that simple fact that Alfred Pennyworth made his way down and into the Batcave, a Friday evening two months after the death of Dick's parents. With an irritated raise of an eyebrow, Alfred approached his legal ward, whose fingers were typing over the computer's keyboard. The cowl of his Batman costume had been removed so that the familiar face of Bruce Wayne was visible.

"I'm sure you're aware that Master Dick has been asking for you," Alfred said passively as he stopped by Bruce's side, hands placed behind his back in a proper manner. When he didn't achieve any response, Alfred chose to continue. "Master Bruce, I fully agreed, though a bit on the hesitant side, that taking in young Richard Grayson was a good idea, mostly for the boy's sake, of course, but I actually hoped it would also have an affect on you, as well. Sir, you might not notice it, but whenever you actually _have_ time to spend with him you're _different_. And I mean that in a good way."

Finally, Bruce's eyes turned to look at him, causing the butler to keep going. "What I'm trying to say, sir, is that maybe… putting the Batman mantle aside to a certain extent would not only be for the best of Master Richard, but also for yourself. I know, for certain, that the boy misses your presence greatly. He finds comfort in you. The same comfort I'm sure you found in me when your parents died, if not more."

"I'm trying to do this for him, Alfred," the Dark Knight finally replied, his face now serious. He reached out for something Alfred couldn't quite see, but soon he got the answer. It was a wire and if the Englishman was not wrong – it was a snapped one. "This wire was found by Richard's parents' bodies. As you can see it's not burnt at all, but _cut_. I'm sure that the death of Dick's parents was no accident."

With wide eyes, Alfred took the wire Bruce handed to him. "You mean, they were _murdered_?"

"I don't know that yet, Alfred," replied Gotham's protector with narrowed eyes "But I will find out."

There was a long pause of silence where the butler observed his master. From the looks of it, Bruce hadn't gotten many results in his research and considering how busy the billionaire had been lately he had probably barely gotten down to take on the case. Naturally, Alfred suspected Batman had taken a good look at the ruins of Haley's Circus, but there was probably something the Dark Knight hadn't thought of.

Something that could be fairly helpful.

"Have you asked Master Dick, sir?" The typing stopped instantly as Bruce turned to look at the old man. "I know that his parents' deaths are, obviously, a sore topic for him. However, he was there. If there is something to this, then maybe Master Dick would know, don't you think?"

"I haven't exactly questioned a four-year-old before, Alfred."

"There is a first time for everything, Master Bruce."

**-o-**

As much as Bruce wanted not to, he knew there was logic in what Alfred had said. So the next day when he knocked gently on Dick's door, he had made up his mind. He was going to ask Dick about the night his parents died, but, obviously, not as Batman. This was Bruce Wayne's case to handle now as well.

His adopted son lay curled within the covers, his chest rising up and down steadily. For a moment, Bruce let himself admire the view. Dick looked so peaceful when he slept; it was almost like he belonged there, in that big bed, in this house. A part of Bruce felt selfish, because here was treating, thinking and acting as if Dick was his own son, when in truth, there was no blood relation between them at all. Originally, this intelligent, wonderful boy hadn't been his to keep.

He'd gotten lucky and Dick had been exposed to pure cruelty.

Reminded of what supposedly had caused the boy to lose his parents, Bruce walked over to the bed. Gently he shook the child's shoulder until blue eyes opened slowly. At first they blinked, before Dick yawned and stretched somewhat. Bruce waited patiently as the kid came to and sat up in bed, looking up at the billionaire with big eyes.

"Good morning, Dick."

"Gwood morning," yawned the young boy, rubbing his left eye absentmindedly.

With a sigh, Bruce put his large hand on his ward's shoulder. "Dick, we need to have a talk," he said, keeping his voice somewhat soft, but still serious enough for the child to understand he had to pay attention. "It's about… the day your mother and father died."

The four-year-old tilted his head a bit to the side, clearly puzzled. His eyes turned sad though, which Bruce had expected them to. Regardless, this had to be done. "I know you don't like talking about that day, but it would mean a lot to me if you could tell me of what you remember. Was there… someone else in the tent before you started practice?"

For a moment, Bruce thought Dick had no intentions of answering. The boy's eyes had turned from him and didn't look up again. The billionaire was patient though and didn't say anything. He let the youngster think; to let him search the painful memories cautiously, before answering quietly: "I-I… yeah,"

This perked the detective's curiosity. "Who was it, Dick? Do you remember anything about him? How he looked like? What he did?" Bruce had to restrain himself from pushing even further. He reminded himself that this was a child – a child in a fragile state when it came to this topic at that. He couldn't risk shoving Dick away from him, not for the case and not for himself.

There was a long moment of silence, in which they both just sat there, Bruce's hand on his adoptive son's shoulder and Dick's eyes not meeting his. Then the child raised his gaze. "There are men who help putting up the trapeze," said Dick his face somewhat thoughtful and yet a bit emotionless. "Mommy and daddy know many, but that day they didn't recognise one of them. They didn't care and they went up anyway, but told me to stay to watch. They said… that I have to learn acrobatics careful-_carefully_. They wanted to show me how to do it right first."

To Bruce's silent surprise – though it did not show on his features, of course – the little boy's eyes watered. "I knew him. I saw him the day before, because he argued with Mr. Haley," said Dick, now tears were falling gently down his cheeks. "I don't know what they talked about, but… he was angry and…" Dick paused and now the tears were falling harder. "Do you… do you think he… _killed_ mommy and daddy?"

"I don't know, Dick, but it definitely… sounds suspicious."

Batman certainly had a clue in the case now. With this valuable information, then maybe finding this suspect would go smoothly. He could always hope: always work hard for it to happen.

The blue eyes watered more and Bruce felt helpless. He found himself hating to see those orbs so filled with sadness. Subconsciously, he wiped some of the falling tears with his thumb, letting Dick lean into the touch of his big palm. "Is it my fault, Bruce?" asked the young acrobat. "Is it my fault mommy and daddy… went to heaven?"

Hearing such broke all boundaries Bruce had tried to maintain between himself and the child. He stroked the black hair, lovingly – so foreign from his usual way of showing affection. "No, Dick. Nothing is your fault. Nothing could ever be your fault."

Then the four-year-old boy started crying.

And Bruce took him to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his small body. For the first time since he could remember, Bruce felt something in him flutter. It was the desire to protect – the one he had possessed ever since the death of his parents – but stronger, more livid and he knew never wanted to see this child cry again.

It was official. Dick Grayson has crawled into his heart and he was not about to leave any time soon.

Bruce Wayne was not sure if that was a good thing or not, but for the time being he would deal with it. Appreciate it.

Alfred knew that when Bruce hurried passed him a week later, his determination so evident on his face that the old butler felt amazed by it, that something had happened. Sure enough, Bruce was usually a very determined person, but the way he hurried to take on his Batsuit and the way he would stroll through the Batcave to gather his gear – for Alfred, there was only one conclusion. Master Bruce had found the one who killed Dick's parents.

That night Alfred felt worried, something he hadn't truly done since Bruce had completed a year as the Batman. The old man had learned to have so much faith in the Wayne heir that mere concern was not something he was plagued with. This time it was different though and honestly he couldn't explain it.

The murderer of Master Dick's parents was probably not a super villain, but merely an ordinary crook, so for Master Bruce it would, most likely, not be much of a challenge. Considering how Batman had handled villains like the Joker, Scarecrow, Penguin and so on, there was no reason for Alfred to be worried. Yet, the butler was too restless to go to sleep that night.

It seemed he was not the only one. Alfred, clad in crimson coloured pyjamas, glanced up from his baking as young Richard came into the kitchen. The boy was wearing a far too big pyjamas himself; dark blue with small clouds on. It had been Bruce's when he was four so Alfred had asked if Richard had wanted to use it. The young boy had been quite happy with the idea actually.

Bruce had yet to notice though.

"Master Dick," said Alfred, a kind smile making its way to his lips. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Cwant's sleep," mumbled the child, his voice slurry as he rubbed his left eye. "When's Bruce comin' back?"

For a moment, Alfred froze his actions, but restarted them almost as quickly as he'd stopped. He heard the child seat himself by the dinner table as he chopped the chocolate into small pieces; naturally, these were going to be used to make his famous chocolate chip cookies. "Master Bruce will be back quite late tonight, Master Dick," answered the butler without looking at the young boy. "He had some very important business to attend. I'm positive he was quite sorry he couldn't be present to tuck you into bed."

"S'okay," Dick replied. "He's busy."

The butler didn't respond, because truthfully he had no comforting words to spare right now. Instead he continued to make the cookie mix; once it was done, however, he turned and placed the bowl on the kitchen table, gaining Dick's attention; the boy had still not fallen asleep, though his eyes clearly expressed his exhaustion.

With curious eyes, Dick watched Alfred as he placed a couple of trays before him. Then the butler handed the child a spoon, before grabbing one of his own. "Let me show you how it's done," smiled the old man warmly. "I am fairly certain, young sir, that you will be quite a better pupil than Master Bruce."

Hesitatingly, Dick smiled and then a small giggle escaped the young boy. He moved so he was sitting on his legs, both palms placed on the tabletop. He bowed over and glanced down at the bowl, before looking up at Alfred with a grin. "Can I lick the bowl when we're done, Alfred? _Pleeease_?"

"Very well, Master Dick. Very well."

**-o-**

Batman was a dark vigilante, a _cold _one. Nevertheless, he was fair and he went by the law. It wasn't always the easy way, but it was the right way. As he now loomed over Tony Zucco, the man who had murdered Dick's parents in a moment that the police would believe it to be an accident, he realised that his urge to _kill_ had almost never been so great.

Yet, when he clutched the front of the man's shirt, for so to hold him ruthlessly up against the wall, he realised that it was not only the law that was against his temptations. If he wanted to set an example for Dick, if he wanted to be a good parent, a good man, a hero, if he wished to continue to be on the Police's good side, if he wanted to keep protecting Gotham – he couldn't cross that line.

If he allowed himself to do it just once, it could never be taken back. And no matter how much his heart burned to let this man die a pitiful death for exposing Dick to all the pain he, himself, had gone through, Bruce knew he could never do it. Because he was not like this man. He was not a murderer.

"Pl-please d-don't k-kill me!" said the man, his eyes shutting pathetically.

Harshly, Batman tugged Zucco toward him, their faces inches apart – the crook was squirming. To think he'd only killed the Graysons for the sake of hurting the circus owner, it made his blood boil. "I'm not like you," he hissed. Then he threw the man against the wall, hard enough that he probably broke something. As the brunet lay there unconscious, he briefly messaged Commissioner Gordon.

Though he was not noticeable, Batman was present until the commissioner had entered the fallen down building. When he was certain Gordon had read his letter, which explained everything the redheaded man needed to know, the Dark Knight disappeared from the shadows, for so to throw himself into the Batmobile.

The ride home seemed longer than usual and when he finally returned to the cave, he felt exhausted for reasons he could just not understand. Hunting down Zucco had been _slightly_ harder than anticipated. The man was sneakier and had more contacts than expected; therefore the job had been irritatingly long-drawn.

It had been like a childish game of hide and seek.

The difference was that when Batman caught the murderer, he went to jail instead of having to count.

Even so, it had been far from one of his harder nights. He shouldn't be tired.

Sighing, the Caped Crusader draped his cowl back over his head, for so to remove the rest of his costume. As he hung the suit away he briefly wondered how he was going to tell Dick about this whole thing. He also realised that if the young boy was truly going to be part of his family, then telling him about his secret would be… adequate.

No, it would be _necessary_.

Bruce made his way up and out of the Batcave. Consistently, the manor would be deadly silent this time of hour, but this time it was different. The Caped Crusader paused, before he tilted his head only slightly to his side.

Something that sounded like light laughter seeped through the corridor; it definitely was… an _unusual_ surprise.

Cautiously, Bruce made his way toward the sound. His eyes widened lightly due to what met him.

Alfred was currently scraping what looked like newly made chocolate chip cookies into the Wayne manor's famous cookie jar. That wasn't too surprising (though not even hard-working Alfred Pennyworth used to cook 03:14).

What shocked Bruce was the small boy currently seated _on_ the table. Dick was holding a black spatula in his hand, licking it innocently while his big blue eyes studied Alfred curiously. How the boy had not gotten a scolding by the butler for being seated on the kitchen table Bruce would never fathom.

"Bruce!"

Dick's voice snapped him out of his silent daze. The boy had thrown the spatula and the bowl away and was now sprinting toward him. Before the man could really apprehend what was happening Dick had leaped onto him, hugging around his hips while standing on his tiptoes. Needless to say, the small boy's hands were not long enough to wrap fully around him, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Guess what! We baked _cookies_! Alfred says I'm a better baker than you'll ever be!" exclaimed Dick, jumping up and down in excitement.

The billionaire raised a sore eyebrow toward his butler who silently smiled. "Did he now?" he asked, not sounding too impressed for being granted that form for knowledge.

"Mhm," yawned the boy, his hold loosening somewhat.

It had happened within seconds, but now young Richard looked like he was going to faint due to exhaustion. Noticing his adoptive son's fatigue state, Bruce kneeled down. And when Dick reached up, instinctively wrapping his arms around the tall man, the Dark Knight realised that he had done one of the best forms for justice tonight.

Dick's parents' murderer was behind bars. Tony Zucco was never going near Richard again, nor was he going anywhere near Haley's Circus.

Batman had made sure of that.

"Let's go to bed," said Bruce. "I think we both deserve it."

**-o-**

One had to be naïve if one believed that all problems of losing Mary and John Grayson would disappear just because Tony Zucco and his thugs were brought down. Especially since Dick had no idea the murderer of his parents had even been arrested and was currently rotting in jail. Even so, Bruce felt part of the heavy burden of their deaths had been lifted from both shoulders.

It probably had to do with him, but the time that followed held a lighter atmosphere. Occasionally, Dick would wake up, his face drowned in tears and his sobbing hysterical due to nightmares and intense loss. Though it had felt rather awkward at first, Bruce had easily concluded how to handle it perfectly.

Though various books made for parents (yes, he had read them and he had money so it was not a waste of time) advised not to let the child into your bed, Bruce found it comforting not only for Dick, but also for himself. Because he felt useful. Because feeling how Dick depended on him lightened his spirit; lightened the darkness he had – before the squirt entered his life – been surrounded by since his parents' death.

Besides, he'd already done it before he read the books, so he could might as well continue with it.

Overall being a parent was, a slow, but sure, learning process. Surely enough, Alfred was a lot of help. Since the butler had practically raised Bruce himself (and been present when the billionaire had been Dick's age), he knew a great deal about how to handle various situations a child brought with.

Too bad he hadn't informed the Dark Knight of _everything_.

For example, Bruce quickly learned that serving an acrobat like Dick sugar (as in chocolate, candy – _anything_ sweet really), was not a good idea.

Their chandelier would _never_ be the same.

Also, one should never let a four-year-old drink a lot of water before going to bed. Then the bed sheets (and the parent who had to change them during the night) suffered. Usually, Alfred was the one changing the beds, but this was part of the learning process, thus the butler had refused to help.

Bruce had not been happy.

The billionaire had also come to another conclusion. Kids were _expensive_.

Of course, _he_ was loaded, so having the money to give Richard what was required was no problem, but it still amazed Bruce whenever he calculated out what the sum of Richard's needs was. Truthfully, Gotham's protector felt very sorry for whoever would have to take care of a child that and wasn't doing well in the economy department.

Poor, poor parents.

With a tired sigh, Bruce massaged his temple with two of his digits. Work was being a pain like usual and he just realised that ninety percent of his mind tended to be occupied with the new member of their family.

Bruce was starting to worry that repressed parental instincts were taking him over.

"Mr. Wayne?" came the stiff voice of his secretary. Miss Keelson was not in a good mood it seemed, though Bruce couldn't really talk. His mood wasn't the brightest right now either.

"Yes?" he responded just as gruffly.

"Your son is here."

Oh. He had forgotten that Alfred had left for England for this weekend; meaning Batman was off-duty for two whole nights. His butler hadn't seemed the least worried for such. Apparently, Alfred meant the Batman could use some vacationing. Bruce had wanted to argue that two days could hardly be categorised as anything close to a vacation, but, as mentioned before, he was not dumb.

One could not argue with Alfred when the Englishman was _that_ determined.

To be honest, Bruce was bit nervous about this weekend. It would be the first time he was all alone with Dick, without even a slight assistance from his loyal friend. Doubting himself wasn't something Bruce usually did a lot of, but when it came to being a good father for Richard he questioned his every move, his every judgement.

He just hoped it would be all right.

"Send him in," he answered his secretary. Straight after he glanced at the watch on his computer to determine whether it was time to head home or not. He supposed he could take an early leave; Dick would, undoubtedly, feel quite bored in his office.

As if a cue, Miss Keelson opened the door. To Bruce's silent amusement her face turned downright baffled when the small, adorable looking four-year-old looked up at her with big, innocent blue eyes and said: "Thank you very much, lady."

"Uhm… you're… eh… welcome," she was able to utter, still amazed that the child hadn't just moved away from her. Seeing as Miss Keelson didn't usually hold welcoming expressions children didn't usually like being close to her; just like they never tended to be close to anyone that didn't smile or made them feel comfortable.

Dick Grayson turned out to be quite a special child though.

Said young boy instantly spotted his adoptive father whom had moved from his desk. His face brightened. "Bruce! Bruce!" he said happily.

With his new backpack (a Batman themed one, which Alfred had bought to him) hanging loosely onto his shoulders, Dick ran up to the billionaire. Despite Miss Keelson's presence, Bruce kneeled and took the boy into his arms. He then sent her a look that would make anyone move away from him as soon as possible.

Needless to say, it worked on her as well.

Once his secretary had left them, Bruce placed Dick on top of his desk. There the young boy sat while kicking playfully with his small legs. His new father's desk was very big, so there was a long way to the ground. He felt a big hand ruffle his dark hair, which made him giggle and look adoringly up at the CEO.

"Guess what – Alfred said that we could have pizza tonight when he wasn't home!" announced Dick, grinning like never before. The way those eyes looked so brightly up at him made Bruce's smile far softer than first intended.

"Did he now?" mused Bruce as he closed his briefcase.

"Yeah!" Dick giggled. "He said that it was better we ate unhealthy food than you cooking in the kitchen."

Bruce rolled his eyes and briefly wondered when Alfred was going to understand that he _was_ able to make something _decent_. Then again, taking Dick out eating this weekend would probably be a better idea. Since Alfred was so strict when it came to eating healthy Dick should probably enjoy situations like this when he could. One thing was for certain, Alfred Pennyworth didn't leave Wayne manor _often_; hence Dick would not experience the wonders of junk food much during his childhood.

The Dark Knight left his desk, brief case in his left hand while the right he held out for his adoptive son to take. Once Richard small one was in his, Bruce showed him out of his office, ignoring the stares he received from the various people in the building. Especially he tried to ignore how Miss Keelson stared his adoptive son down.

"Why are everyone lookin' at you?" the small boy asked curiously as they finally moved into the limo parked outside.

Bruce ordered the driver to roll down the black window to the driver's seat and then turned to Dick. Said boy, despite having climbed into a limo (which still took some time to get used to, even after these months) had not lost the curiosity in his eyes.

"Because I haven't been very… _involved_ with children before," the billionaire answered honestly.

The Caped Crusader watched a bit incredulously as the small boy climbed up in his lap and sat there, smiling and looking him straight in the eyes. It was this kind of behaviour Bruce was still struggling to get used to. Richard was such an affectionate, chatty and generally _warm_ person, which Bruce really didn't interact with often. Now, he dealt with this openly adoring child every day and he had opened up to him on many levels.

Despite that, he still felt a bit lost whenever the young boy climbed up in his lap, approached him just to give him a hug and so on. When Dick looked at him like that, nestled in his lap, he always wondered how he was _supposed_ to respond. Yet, he _did_ allow it, every single time. And in the back of his mind, he knew that was the right thing to do.

Alfred had been absolutely right. He _was_ changing. Changing drastically.

"You haven't been with other kids like me, Bruce?"

"No, not much," said Gotham's White Knight sincerely as he, a bit hesitantly, reached up and ruffled his ward's hair, encouraging the boy to rest his head against his adoptive father's big, muscular chest.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't have any children in my life before you."

Silence followed and Dick closed his eyes. It had been a long day for him too. With Alfred preparing to leave for England he'd been sent to Gotham playground along with a hired nanny for the day. It had been very exhausting and not all of the children were very nice. He had found some to play with though and overall he'd had a good time.

But nothing felt better than being back with Bruce. Because Bruce was the best.

"Bruce?"

"Hm?"

Richard's small hands curled around the billionaire's shirt, clenching it tightly within his palms. "Are you happy I live with you?"

The small boy was glad when he felt strong arms wrap around him, embracing him protectively. "Yes, Dick. I am. Far more happier than I have been in many years."

"For reals?"

"… for reals."

That night was going to be quite memorable for both Bruce and Dick and truthfully it could only be described as a bonding-night, where both had enjoyed themselves to the point where time passed by far too rapidly. Before Bruce knew it the clock showed way passed his young ward's usual bedtime. It was with a heavy heart he had told Dick to head for bed. As expected the boy had protested; he had even tried using his infamous puppy-dog eyes.

But Bruce stood firm. There was no way he would deal with an outraged Alfred when the Englishman got a hold of that information. And his butler _would_. He had long since experienced that Batman wasn't the only individual to who seemed to know _everything. _Let's just say that so did the butler of the Bat.

Once Richard was done brushing his teeth Bruce led him to bed. He absentmindedly picked up various toys and the new addition to their family – Dick's stuffed Bat plushie, which the boy had named 'Jett'. Apparently, the boy had found the name fitting. He said there was a dog at the Haley circus that had been given the same name because he was fairly fast and black coloured.

As Dick settled into his enormous bed (considering his own small size), Bruce put his adoptive son's new belongings away and into his, also new, toy chest. Then the billionaire went up to him, amused when he saw how Dick had thrown his duvet over his head, as if he expected to be invisible. Fair enough, the boy was so slim and small that if he had hadn't curled up like a ball when Bruce _wasn't _present it might have been unnoticeable.

However, since it wasn't so, it was only humorous that the child even bothered doing it.

"Are you planning of coming out of your nest there?" Bruce asked, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow. His mouth divulged his feelings though; even the Dark Knight himself was not aware how his walls just instantly came down when he was dealing with this young boy.

"Who? Dick's not here right now!" came the muffled voice from under the duvet.

Rolling his eyes, the billionaire sat on the edge of the bed. "Isn't he now? Well, then I suppose I can just lie down on the bed then…"

"NO!"

Bruce let his body slip down onto the mattress, but only when he was certain Dick would be able to make it out of the duvet in time. The boy laughed out in delight, thrilled by this new game and threw himself at Bruce. The former circus boy thereafter proceed to fight his adoptive father, which naturally was like fighting a big brick wall.

Then, something happened. Something Bruce had never imagined would happen, not in this way, ever again.

As Dick practically climbed up over him, fighting him and expressing his utter enjoyment by giggling and tickling him, Bruce _laughed_.

Bruce Wayne, the Batman, the greatest detective on earth, the man who every League member never expected to see smile – he _laughed_.

And it wasn't a chuckle. It wasn't snickering or a laughter of mocking.

It sounded thrilling, carefree – _happy_.

Realisation didn't dawn on him until he had trapped Dick in his arms, holding him up from his position on the bed. It was when he realised what just happened though, he lowered Dick and into his arms. He had been gripped by an intense feeling of pure and utter shock.

Richard noticed this change of attitude and confusedly tilted his head to the side. Bruce's strong hands were still wrapped almost fully around his little chest, but they were no longer holding him up. Instead they only rested loosely there, as if his guardian had gone into some kind of shocked state. The dark eyes of his new father were somewhat wide, but after a long pause they turned to look down at him.

Directly at him.

"Are you okay?" asked the child innocently, sincerely puzzled as to why Bruce had stopped their fun game.

Mentally, the tall man shook his head, before gently putting Richard back in bed as he, himself, got out. He took a hold of the duvet, which seemed to have landed on the floor during their brief game, and tucked it over Dick, who still looked rather confused, as well as disappointed.

"We done already?" Dick asked solemnly, his big blue eyes looking up at his other father. "But that was fun! You thought so too, because you laughed. You haven't laughed, but I like it. You sounded happy. Aren't you… happy?"

"I'm… _very_ happy, Dick…"

"Then why did you stop?"

Bruce reached out and stroked Dick's dark hair; he watched as the boy closed his eyes briefly, clearly enjoying the tender attention, before opening them again. The billionaire was now seated on the side of the bed, bowing slightly over the boy covered by the duvet. "I stopped because you need to go to bed."

Not convinced, the boy pursed his lips. "No you didn't. You stopped because you laughed," Richard complained. "Are you afraid of laughing?"

Smirking, Bruce ruffled the boy's hair harshly, causing him to giggle. "Me laughing is quite… terrifying; trust me. But mostly, I stopped because Alfred will have my head if you don't fall asleep soon."

"I won't tell him," promised Dick genuinely.

"Oh, he'll know," Bruce sighed. "As soon as he gets home."

Blue eyes widened. "Is Alfred psychotic!"

This time Bruce chuckled, quite amused by the sincerely shocked look on the four-year-old's little face. "I'm quite sure you mean _psychic_, and no, Dick. As much as it may seem like Alfred and I know _everything_, we aren't psychic. It's just… a gift; a very scary gift at times, I can assure you."

"Oh…" yawned Dick. "S'good. 'Cause you havin' superpowers would've been scary. But... mawbe a bwit cool too..."

Noticing how the young boy's voice became slurred and faint, Bruce smiled warmly. He leaned over and kissed his son's forehead softly, before he withdrew and tucked small boy further into the duvet. "Sleep tight, kid. I'll see you tomorrow," Bruce said fondly.

All he received was a nod, along with yet another yawn. Satisfied, plus knowing his child would soon be asleep, Bruce turned and headed for the door. However, just as he'd taken a hold of the doorknob, Dick spoke up once more.

"Bruce?"

"Yeah, Dick?" he answered, looking over at the bed.

"I'm very lucky," said the child, before he yawned some more. "Because I have two daddies who love me. One here with me and one in heaven. I think I'll…" Another yawn escaped the boy. "… I think I'll call you 'daddy' too. My first Daddy won't mind. He's an angel now so it's okay. I love him, I love Mommy, I love Alfred…" The third yawn came and Dick snuggled further into the covers. "… and I love you."

Bruce had no idea how to answer the little kid. He felt intense warmth – _love_ – spread throughout his entire body. Such strong feelings had been banned from his mind, from his _heart_, for so long, but now they came all at once. The need to protect, to hold, to cherish this little boy – it was so _intense_.

For a moment, he just stood there, holding on to the doorknob. He heard the soft breathing of Dick which indicated that the small child had fallen asleep. And it wasn't before all overwhelming emotions had settled that Bruce smiled softly and whispered: "I love you too, kid. More than I thought I'd ever do again. Some day soon I'm going to show you just how much… I think the Batman's ready for you."

Then Bruce Wayne exited the bedroom. He left the door slightly ajar, just in case…


	3. Part 3: A Father's Protection

**Child's Mind**

**Part: III**

_"I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection."_

_~ Sigmund Freud_

_-o-_

Central City, 1996

The snowflakes fell lightly over Central, covering various buildings and pavements like a thin, fragile, white carpet. The degrees had long since fell and the people of the city had therefore been forced to wear thick coats and generally warm outerwear. It was far from the coldest winter Central City had experienced, but yet a bit chillier than it commonly tended to be.

Iris Allen swiped the dish brush over a dirty plate, her green eyes occasionally glancing up to admire the view. She didn't have anything against the cold, really, and the way the snowflakes fell made her smile somewhat. They looked like they were dancing when they swirled like that. Round and around before they settled down in their rather small garden. The big oak outside had also gotten a layer of white snow.

The redheaded woman bowed down and placed the last plate into the dishwasher. Once done she removed the black apron and hung it away, briefly wondering where her husband had gone off to. It still felt a bit weird referring to Barry as such. They'd dated for so incredibly long before finally tying the knot, hence it was rather foreign.

Now, however, it was done. She was married at last and in their one-month of being wife and husband she had not once been unhappy. So far so good, as Barry would probably have said and then serve one of those winks that made her just roll her eyes affectionately. Sometimes he was such a goofball.

"Honey, I'm home!"

With a slight chuckle Iris turned as her gifted spouse came zooming into the kitchen. Then she was spun around and was in his arms in seconds. Green eyes scanned him briefly and then he kissed her. She laughed warmly against his lips, before they parted, and she draped the cowl of his red superhero outfit over his head.

"Have you _any_ idea how much I hate that sentence?" she asked him, her facial expression showing fake irritation, which she knew Barry would easily see through.

"Heh, you know I only say it because of how dumb it sounds," laughed the blond haired man as he let go of her. Iris watched fondly as he, still clad in his superhero costume, made his way toward the fridge. "How was work today?"

Iris shrugged her shoulders. "The same as usual. How about you?"

"Which job are you referring to?"

It really made her smile how fast she had just gotten used to Barry's superhero business. The fact that he was the Flash had long since settled within her mind and now they casually joked about it. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Well, I guess I meant them both," she answered. "Though Flash's job always is a bit more exciting."

Barry zoomed over to her, seating himself by the table. He smiled a bit confidently as he opened the soda bottle. "Well, today it wasn't too much to brag about. Stopped a couple of art thieves, caught the Trickster and saved a cat from a tree," the speedster told before he swallowed the sweet liquid.

"A cat from a tree?"

"I was on my way home."

What could only be described as a giggle escaped Iris, before she stood up and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Go take a shower, superhero. You stink and I'm tired, so let's go to bed." The way she said it perked Barry's attention. Now that the extra adrenaline after his evening out as the Flash had settled, he did notice something was bit off with his wife.

Barry tilted his head to the side, studied her movements, and then rose from his seat. She had now had her back turned to him while she readied the dishwasher. Her shoulders was slightly slumped, her composure a bit tense and above all there was that extra gleam he loved about her that just wasn't present. Usually, it was easy to tell when Iris was feeling down, but this time he truly had to look minutely to notice.

This led to one conclusion only; she was trying to hide it from him. Which also was completely unlike her.

The speedster reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. This, of course, gained Iris' attention. However, she didn't move for a while. There was a long moment of silence between them before she finally straightened up and closed the dishwasher. She pushed the 'on' button absentmindedly. "Didn't I tell you to shower, big guy?" she reminded while she attempted to sound cheerful and happy. She had managed before, but now it was just fake.

"Hon', what's wrong?" he asked, his voice clearly expressing concern.

"N-nothing," Iris claimed, finally turning to look at him. Though it was obvious her words had lied, her eyes didn't. They were grim, so _sad_.

"Didn't we promise to always be honest with each other?"

His fingers reached out and stroked across her forehead, before the right hand cupped her cheek. Her eyes lowered to the ground and to Barry's utter horror he noticed that his own fingers were becoming wet. Teardrops were falling gently from her eyes, circling her cheeks. It broke his heart to see her like that.

"Iris, honey, what's wrong?" he asked softly as he frowned confused.

Seconds ticked by and those seconds turned to minutes. For someone like Barry it felt far longer that. A part of him wanted to prompt her, _beg her_, into telling him straight away, because for each moment that passed it felt like his heart was aching a bit more. But he let her gather her thoughts; he let her cry for a little while longer.

"I'm… so… so sorry," she whispered, her eyes shutting. "I'm… so sorry."

As fast as his mind worked, Barry had soon scanned every recent memory that could explain as to what was wrong with his wife. Soon he remembered that she has briefly mentioned she was going to the doctors this morning.

Gripped by fear, he took hold of both her shoulders and stared straight into her eyes. "Iris, don't keep me in dark, tell me what's going on. _Please_."

And she hugged him tightly, buried her face into his strong chest. "I… I…" she took a deep breath, inhaled and exhaled and then answered. "I had an appointment with Dr. Eason today. He told me… he told me that…" Barry pressed her closer, inwardly afraid what she would say next. "Barry, I have an inflammation of the fallopian tube. He is afraid it will give me serious pains and… he recommended that I should… take an operation, get them removed."

And all the pieces fit together. Barry pressed her closer, his face burying itself into her mass of red hair. Once her crying started again, he rubbed her back, soothingly, lovingly. Inside he felt broken-hearted as well. He _knew_ how much she wished to have a baby with him – how much _he_ wished to have a child with her. Seeing that opportunity slip after _so many attempts_, it was a horrible, horrible feeling.

"It's okay," he whispered, not surprised that his own voice cracked somewhat. "It's okay."

But both knew it wasn't. It just wasn't okay. It wouldn't be okay for a long time. Because the grief they both felt right now would truly take time to heal. True, Barry was a fast healer, but that was only physically. Emotionally, even a speedster had to take it slow.

Very slow.

**-O-**

Central City, 1996

_Zipping through channels had never felt so comforting. Sure enough, when Barry thought it over he had plenty of things he _should_ have done (especially since Flash's job had been quite easy the whole week). But today was just one of those lazy days. It were days like these that all he wanted was to sit on the couch, snacks placed on the coffee table while he had a glass of beer in his hand._

_All right, so the perfect lazy day hadn't been able to be thoroughly fulfilled, due to the simple fact that they didn't have any beer left, but a soda would do. Also, things would have been a bit more perfect if Iris had joined him. However, she had, exhaustingly and in a bad mood, walked straight past him when she got home just fifteen minutes ago. Not only had she been working overtime, but had needed to go to the grocery store as well._

_Barry had offered doing it (he was _super fast_, for god's sake), but she had grumpily said that such would be stupid. After all, the grocery store was in the same direction as their home. She had, of course, not declined when he had insisted on carrying it out of the car and put everything where it belonged. It wasn't like he lacked time in his life._

_Sighing pleased through his nose, Barry slumped even more into the warmth of the sofa. The reason behind Iris' bad mood had been easy to guess, which had been pretty much why Barry himself hadn't been as jovial as usual. To think it had been a year since her operation, it was unbelievable. Time certainly flew by quickly. However, Barry had hoped that maybe this pain they both carried would fade somewhat quicker._

_Not that he'd been naïve enough to think so, but he had always been hopeful. Always._

_When Mary and Rudolph West had announced the news of Mary's pregnancy, Barry had held his breath. Doubtlessly, he trusted Iris and knew she was not the kind of woman who never showed happiness for the sake of others. Despite that, he had frozen once he'd heard Rudy announce it, a big, proud grin on his face. At that moment Barry had to admit he'd been angry with his wife's brother. He knew far too well that a child was something Iris had wished for in forever so bragging mindlessly about it in his sister's presence had really ticked him off._

_Luckily, Iris' reaction had kept him from downright punching the man. The smile she had uttered was clearly genuine and when she had wrapped her brother into a tight hug, he had gone back to being somewhat relaxed. Though he was sure the three others probably noticed his wariness, as if he was afraid Iris would break down right before his eyes, that dinner had went fairly well._

_There was no need to question whether Iris was pleased with becoming an aunt or not. Her sincere smile, her constant visits to Mary, and the way she would talk about how they were always going to be available for babysitting – it made it quite obvious._

_Barry pushed the button on the remote, his eyes closing more and more. Despite being a speedster he felt oddly exhausted. Probably due to a lot of things pestering his mind lately, as well as his busy day._

_Just as he was assessing whether he should get himself another soda (or maybe even run down the store to buy beer), the sound of their telephone screeched out its usual sound. Barry sighed from his spot on the couch and began speculating how ferocious Iris would be if he didn't pick it up. He didn't need to use his superfast abilities to come up with a quick conclusion there._

"_Barry pick up the freaking phone!"_

"_But-"_

"_I mean it! Or you'll be on the couch for a _week_."_

_Gulping, Barry was by the phone in a flash. He moved the handset to his ear and made a mental note to never hesitate to answer the phone ever again. Not when his wife was in a bad mood. "Allen residence," he said. "Barry speaking."_

_Unbeknown to Iris, the call her husband had just answered was one she would have appreciated being the one taking herself. She had just started massaging shampoo into her red hair when she heard her husband yell from downstairs._

"_Iris, it was Rudolph! Mary's gone into labour! Mary's gone into labour!"_

_She dropped the shampoo bottle._

Was that what had happened hours ago? To be honest, her mind felt far too blurry to be certain. However, the way her hair felt – unwashed and still had traces of dried soap – she supposed that was the truth. Now, that was hard to imagine though. Everything had gone so fast. It had been an unusual quick birth, for not to mention unusual quick _trip_ to the hospital on her husband's back.

But all that was quickly forgotten as she gazed down to the new addition to the West family. He was so beautiful, so _little_ and looked so strong, yet fragile – all at the same time.

Iris could not keep herself from smiling warmly as Mary handed him over, his tiny hands waving and his legs kicking, until he settled within her arms. He had small, barely visible freckles adorning his chubby cheeks and, though it wasn't much to look at right now, it was easy to see he was a redhead. Yes, he was perfect. So perfect.

Mary and Rudolph were smiling; both had eyes that shone brightly by the overwhelming happiness. And Iris was truly glad they were. Though her brother and her sister-in-law had tried to hide it, there was no mistake that their marriage had been going through a rather rocky period. Even so, they were now standing strong together and had been granted a lovely baby boy. A strong and healthy one at that.

Her brother surely seemed pleased with such. Especially the strong part.

"He's perfect, Mary; really," Iris softly said as she rocked the baby boy subconsciously. She then poked his nose in a playful manner, which caused him to wriggle somewhat. "He'll surely fit straight into the family, now won't he?"

Barry came up behind her, his hand reaching out to rest on her left shoulder, while he laid his chin on the right. "He's quite a charmer," the blond haired man mused with a brilliant grin. "What are you going to name him?"

"Wallace," Rudy answered, his chest puffed out, clearly expressing his pride. "Wallace West."

She felt Barry's hold on her tighten and she looked at that little boy, the way he waved his hands, the way he whimpered, but only slightly. She would never have all this to herself – she and _Barry_ would never have this for themselves – but she would cherish her new nephew with all her might.

Borrowing was all right. True enough, she would have to return it, but it was better than having nothing. Being an aunt was better than being nothing.

Iris placed a soft kiss on the newborn's forehead, not noticing the sympathetic looks she was receiving from her brother and his wife. As Barry's hold on her tightened once more she put her lips close to the baby's ears and whispered. "I think I'm going to call you Wally," she said with a smile. "Because I think you'll be too bouncy, cheery and loudmouthed to be called a Wallace."

Barry, being the only one who heard it, smiled. He sighed in content, and then glanced down as his nephew. It was slowly healing for them both. Slowly. He was truly glad Iris was too busy being the best aunt there could be to remember that today was the anniversary where she giving birth had become impossible.

Because the 16th of January was a happy day now. It was the birthday of Wally West.

**-O-**

Central City, 1999

Barry moved the child further into his lap, hand covering Wally's as he directed the two-year-old's finger toward each picture. As enthusiastic as the redheaded boy was, he instantly shouted the name of the animal or item in the picture book, which caused his uncle to laugh warmly. Really, the boy was so energetic that Barry sometimes wondered who the fastest one of them was.

Already at ten months Wally West had started to show signs of an early walker. The boy was so full of energy and would constantly turn and wriggle as a baby. He had not been much of a sleeper either, much to Mary and Rudy's dismay. As if becoming parents for the first time wasn't scary enough, Wally had given them a shock by granting sleepless nights, and constant worry due to his frequently moving body.

Needless to say, Iris and Barry had been given a lot of access to the little boy. He was at his aunt and uncle's at least three times a week and sometimes even during the weekend as well. However, this had caused certain reactions and Barry had soon discovered sides of Rudolph West that he had no clue existed.

If the Scarlet Speedster would have to describe his recent behaviour he would have to say that Rudy had been acting _possessive._

It seemed Wally's father was not dealing quite well with the fact that they sometimes required help with their hyperactive son. Rudy had always viewed himself as a family man (according to what Iris had told him) and therefore found great displeasure in knowing that they needed someone else to keep their family at bay and in control.

To make it short, Barry had noticed that his brother-in-law did not like him. Not at all.

True enough, they had never really interacted like, he supposed, Iris had wanted them to. They were too different; Barry all happy and lay-black, while Rudy more serious and seemed to always long for having control of everything. Despite their differences though, both cared deeply for Iris and had, through that, been able to befriend each other to a certain degree.

Now, on the other hand, things had changed. Rudy would grant him a brief smile if Iris was present. But, if Barry had been alone with Wally and the man showed up on his doorstep to pick up his son, he was not granted as much as an indifferent glance. Instead Rudy's lips were always pursed as he gruffly took his son. Wally never got the chance to say goodbye to his beloved uncle, which was why Barry always made sure doing that minutes _before_ Rudy approached the house.

Barry felt his hold on the toddler tighten and he kissed Wally's small head affectionately. He understood that having such a wonderful kid could make anyone a bit paranoid about losing him, but it was almost as if Rudy disliked the close relationship Barry and Iris had formed with his son. If he had always claimed to be a family man, then strengthening the bond between nephew and uncle shouldn't, in principle, be a bad thing for him.

Unless Rudy wanted just _his_ little family – meaning just him, Mary and Wallace – to be close.

"Doggie!" exclaimed Wally, instantly pulling Barry out of his troubled thoughts.

The blond haired man snickered and ruffled the boy's hair. He glanced over at the little finger pointing excitedly at the picture in the book. The dog was always Wally's favourite; hence he saved it for last. "And you're right again," Barry praised, hugging his nephew close to his chest, which caused the little boy to giggle. "Good job, kiddo."

"Want doggie," said Wally then, his face a bit pouty. "Want doggie."

Barry felt a rush of sympathy for the boy. Rudolph was not much of an animal lover and neither was Mary when he thought about it. They always tended to complain if a dog or a cat came close whenever they were out eating in Central City Park. Their son, however, seemed to like fuzzy animals quite much. Too bad that Wally would not get a dog with his parents being uncomfortable around animals.

"Maybe uncle could get a dog, huh, kiddo?" The speedster proposed playfully, turning Wally so he was sitting on Barry's stomach instead of having his tiny back pressed against his chest. The redhead giggled at that, encouraging Barry to keep going. "Then you could come play with it as much as you want!"

"Yay!" cheered Wally. "Wuncle Barry's doggie!"

"Barry don't promise something you can't keep," sighed Iris as she approached her husband and nephew. Her lips were stretched into a warm smile, which indicated that she wasn't too upset with him, but promising something to a two-year-old who could easily throw anger tantrums could just not be wise. Luckily, Wally was easily distracted. "You want cookies, Wally? Auntie put them on the coffee table."

"Cookies, cookies!" And the boy wriggled out of Barry's hold, his small feet hurriedly making their way over to the other end of the living room and in front of the television, where also the coffee table could be found.

As Wally climbed into the couch in front of the TV, Flash blankie in one hand and a chocolate chip cookie in the other, Iris turned to her husband. Barry had been busy watching Wally with fondness in his eyes, but it didn't take long before he felt Iris staring at him.

Confused and not quite catching that look on her face, he asked: "Is something wrong?"

She bit her lip in response and sat down in the armchair beside the one he was currently occupying. Her whole body language gave away how uncomfortable and tense she was, which only made him worry even more. Instinctively, Barry reached out and took her hand, squeezing it softly and encouraging.

"I think Mary and Rudy are having problems," she whispered, her face visibly drawn with exhaustion. "We've… talked a lot lately. And they're fighting – a _lot_. She really tries to make things work again and on the outside I think everyone suspect it does but… but I know my brother, Barry, and he can be _very_ unreasonable."

"Is that why we have Wally here more than before?" Barry enquired, frowning.

"I… I don't know that for sure." Iris continued to bite her lip and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping the free arm around them. "But it's a definite possibility."

They both fell quiet. The room's only sound came from the television and their nephew's small humming as he sat comfortably and watched Spider-man, which he, probably, did not understand much of. Apparently, superheroes were cool either way though.

Barry inhaled air and let it out in a sigh. "Where are they now again?" he asked.

"Saint Louis," Iris answered, her thumb stroking her husband's hand subconsciously. "Apparently, Rudy had some business to attend over there and Mary came with. Probably to meet up with that friend of hers who lives there. They'll be back tomorrow around 7 PM."

The only answer she got was an absentminded nod. Barry was pondering whether to voice his opinion of Rudy's changes or not. True, Iris was a fair woman, but this was her brother and too much criticism on her husband's part toward a family member was not always a good thing. However, their marriage wouldn't have been as great as it was hadn't it been for honesty and trust.

And Barry sincerely believed that is Iris would be analytical about this.

"Hon, I feel that… Rudolph's been a bit… _strange_ lately," the speedster spoke, choosing to use his words carefully for a change. "I mean, he and I haven't _always_ gotten along but recently I feel I have become someone he…"

"Hates?"

Caught off guard, all Barry was able to respond with was a noise that sounded like one in agreement. He certainly hadn't expected _her_ to propose such a strong word when it came to describing her brother's current behaviour. Then again, Rudy hadn't been very convincing even _when_ Iris was present. And his wife was, without a doubt, a smart woman, so being surprised was maybe something he shouldn't be.

"I know all about it, Barry," Iris continued seeing as she doubted her husband would say anything. "Mary says he talks bad about you at home. He practically implies that you aren't good for Wally and for me. During one of his anger tantrums he also seemed to yell about how you probably wanted to steal his whole family away." At this point Iris' eyes seemed to have become glossy and it was easy to see that she was on the verge of crying. "Barry, I… I don't think he's mentally healthy anymore. I think he might be sick."

Her throat became dry and she could feel the tears press on. True, Rudy had always been a harsh brother, but he had shown clear signs that he loved her through the years. Protective and possessive was just something she had dismissed as part of his affectionate nature, but now it seemed to be growing dangerous. Too dangerous.

Tears slid down her cheeks, her hand reaching out to hide it, just in case Wally turned his eyes in her direction. Last thing she needed was to upset her nephew, who, doubtlessly, would be very distressed if he found his auntie crying. The redhead was a very empathic child.

"Honey, it's going to be fine," Barry comforted as he moved his hand up to her shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. "We'll discuss this calmly with them when they come to pick up Wally tomorrow. I'm sure that Rudy will listen if we just go forward with this like everyone should. Come on, 'hon, it's going to be all right."

And his controlled voice, his warm touch – it calmed her heart. Iris sniffed once more, before drying her tears. "You're right," she said, her shoulders slumping as she glanced down at her wristwatch. "Better get Wally to bed; he'll be a nightmare if he stays up late and doesn't get enough sleep."

As she was about to move, Barry held her down. Their eyes met and the speedster sent her a warm smile. "Let me do it," the blond man insisted. "You deserve to rest and you know he's going to ask for me anyway."

At that last part Iris chuckled weakly, nodding in agreement. It was a known fact that Wally did not settle for bed unless he had seen his 'Wuncle Barry'. Happy that her husband would put the boy to bed, Iris leaned over and served him a kiss on the cheek. Her spirit felt lighter already.

"Okay, kiddo! Time to fly!" announced Barry as he bounced out of the chair. He dashed for the boy who screamed out in glee as his uncle spun him around. Then young Wally was placed on the muscular man's shoulders. Soon they were making their way up the stairs, two steps at a time, and the boy making helicopter sounds. Barry would have preferred that he pretended to be a car or a motorcycle, but he was just a kid; one couldn't really blame him.

After an intense tooth-brushing session and the fastest bath in human history (according to Barry at least), young Wally West was placed in bed. He giggled, still quite energetic and excited after his fun time with his uncle, and then glanced out the window from his bed. The snow was falling gently from the black sky, just like it had done last January as well.

"A week to go, kiddo," whispered Barry when he noticed how Wally's green eyes were slowly dropping, tiredness overtaking the young boy. The speedster then reached out and stroked his nephew's cheek. "Then you'll be three years old. You're really growing too fast, aren't you?" Wally yawned at that moment, which caused Barry to laugh quietly. "Good night, Wally."

"Gwood night, wuncle Barry," mumbled the child. And Barry kissed his forehead, before wrapping the duvet tightly around him. So small, so fragile – yet so strong, so firm. It was what Iris used to describe him as. Because despite the boy's current small size, he would grow into a strong warrior.

Intuition, was what it was. Pure intuition.

**-O-**

It was Wally's third birthday. Barry knew the boy had strongly wished for a limited receivable Flash teddy bear (which, as the name implied, was a stuffed bear with a Flash costume). And, since that plushie had made it to the market in October, the Flash had made sure to save it for the special occasion that was his nephew's date of birth. Unfortunately, Wally would not be given the wonderful gift.

Ever since the day Iris and Barry had spilled for Rudolph what they'd both noticed about his behaviour, the two families had not been on speaking terms. Or rather, Rudy refused to talk to them, as well as letting his son near his aunt and uncle. Iris had been broken-hearted and tried several times to convince her brother that they only had the best intentions. They were worried about his health, not out to rip away his family, his pride or anything of the sort. Obviously, it hadn't worked.

Rudy was getting more unreasonable as the days passed. And there was nothing Barry and Iris could do about it. Uncle and aunts did not have visitation rights. Therefore, no matter how much they both longed to see their beloved nephew again, as long as they were denied access to him they could not see him. They couldn't even send him a birthday card, because they both knew Rudy would dispose of it.

The Scarlet Speedster sighed dolefully as he poured two cups of coffee. He then went over to Iris who was seated in the living room. Her face was marred with the same sorrow he himself was feeling at this particular day. They had been there for both of Wally's previous birthdays, his two first Christmases, Thanks Givings, Halloweens… It just felt unnatural not to be there on his big day.

"I can't believe my brother forbids me to see my own nephew," whispered Iris as Barry sat down and handed her the steaming cup. Her tone was bitter and yet broken at the same time. She had bags under her eyes, which was understandable due to the sleepless nights they'd both gone through recently. Barry had resorted to using sleeping pills, because the Flash was of no use if his energy was like zero.

Knowing Iris was in desperate need for comfort, Barry wrapped his arm around her and let the red haired woman lay her head on his shoulder. There she nuzzled his neck, seemingly trying to hold her tears back. It didn't seem to work though. Soon Barry felt the wetness of her teardrops on his skin and he squeezed her closer. They loved Wally so much and being denied seeing him was like ripping a part of their hearts out.

For a long time, they just sat there in silence and occasionally Iris would sniffle, which only made Barry press her harder against him. He wanted to take all that pain away, because damn his wife didn't deserve to lose… to lose another child. True enough, Wally was not her son, but they were related by blood and Iris loved the boy just as much as a mother should love her child. Just like Barry loved him the same way.

"It's going to be okay," he soothed, stroking her arm as she leaned fully against his body. "Mary doesn't agree with this and sooner or later she's going to convince Rudy that he needs help."

But it sounded so stupid when he said it. Because Mary had no power over Rudy. She went along with everything her husband did, no matter what it was. She had stopped believing in happy endings, stopped believing in herself. Iris and Barry had noticed how all life had been drained from her and how she now seemed to think that her only reason for living was to serve her husband.

Mary was losing it. Rudy was losing it. And what about Wally? How did the poor boy feel up in all of this? Being young didn't mean he would not notice the wrongness that was happening in his life. Sooner or later he was doomed to end up showing how upset he probably was feeling. And what would Rudolph do if their nephew demanded to see them? That the boy's father possessed a vivid temper was no secret… What if that was taken out on Wally?

Poor, innocent, defenseless Wally who Barry had promised would never get hurt. And he, he wasn't there now. He couldn't protect him. He couldn't-

"Barry, Barry you're… you're _vibrating_!"

Iris' voice pulled him out of his concerned, protective thoughts. He instantly stopped the pulsating of his body and shook his head, though too fast to be visible for his love's green eyes. As he met said orbs with his, he realised that there was unspoken question hanging in the air. That look on Iris' face was ridiculously easy to interpret.

"I'm sorry; just… caught up in thoughts," the speedster apologized, silently scolding himself. There was some serious accusations his mind had made up toward Rudolph. Yes, the man was far from being as good of a father as he should be, but taking his anger out on Wally would be some _serious_ matters. He wouldn't do that… Would he?

The superhero shook his head once more, this time visibly. Iris sent him a confused look, but as her mouth opened to, most likely, ask what was on his mind, their phone interrupted her words. With an irritated growl, she stood up and stamped toward it, breaking the warmth she and her husband had made between them.

With a huff, Iris grabbed the handset and put it to her ear. "Allen residence, Iris speaking," she said monotonously. She swore, if this was her mother _again_ (which would be the fifth time today, just because she insisted on talking about her problems with Rudolph) then she would just hang up with a scream.

Meanwhile, Barry had turned lazily to glance at his wife, feeling rather drawn from all energy. It quickly resurfaced, however, when he noticed how Iris' expression changed. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open and the fair skinned face paled tremendously. Suddenly, her hands were quivering and she dropped the handset.

With tears falling like floods, she turned to look at Barry. "… Mary and Rudy were… in a car accident," she finally spoke, voice shaking. Her husband was by her side before she even got to say anything more, both his hands gripping her shoulders.

"Was Wally with them?" he asked intensely.

Iris let go of a chocked sob. "Y-yes."

She fell down, Barry embracing her against his chest as she cried. It only took her seconds to realise that they had to make it to Central City Hospital though where Rudy and his family had been transported. Soon they were on their way. The police officer had said that their current states were not determined yet; Iris and Barry could only pray silently that the West family had made it out okay.

And they held on to that hope as Barry took his wife on his back. Right there and then he ignored the slight chance that he might be spotted. He just had to get there fast. Really, really fast.


	4. Part 4: Peace

Warning: **Child abuse**. You have been warned.

* * *

><p><strong>Child's Mind<br>**

**Part: IV**

"_The tender child draws itself  
>into a tiny ball as if to disappear<br>... footsteps are heard in the hall  
>'please no' is whispered, 'please go' is prayed<br>as the doorknob quietly turns.  
>there is no peace this night."<em>

~ Pamela Prentiss-Harrison (There Is no Peace, Poem)

**-o-**

Central City, 1999

The three-year-old pulled the duvet over his head, silent tears falling gently down his small, freckled cheeks. With his torn, ugly Teddy held close over his mouth he allowed himself a little sob. His body hurt; especially his arm. They had crashed and it had gotten hurt, but now it hurt more. Daddy was mad again. And Wally didn't understand. Often he'd wondered if daddy was angry because Mommy was not here with them anymore.

But why, if Daddy missed Mommy, did he hurt him? Wally missed Mommy too. Shouldn't they miss Mommy together? Jake, the kid next door, had lost his mommy not long ago as well. He had said that he and his dad went to her grave and put flowers on. His mommy was an angel, he'd said and deserved flowers so she could look at them and be happy. Why couldn't they put flowers on Mommy's grave?

Wally had asked, but then his dad had turned to look at him and the next thing he knew, his face was stinging and tears were flooding down his cheeks. Daddy had screamed. So many, many terrible words. He had yelled that Mommy – Mary he called her now – didn't want any flowers; she was _dead_. It had made Wally cry even more. He missed Mommy. Why did Daddy have to say things like that?

He missed Uncle Barry and Auntie Iris too. Uncle Barry was always nice to him. He would hug him close and tell him so many stories. About Flash; he was a superhero and he was so cool. But Wally didn't get to see Flash anymore. His dad said that his hero was a joke and that he should go away and not be seen. Sometimes, if he didn't listen and started crying his Daddy would hit him some more.

Then Wally would scramble up the stairs and hide underneath his bed. Sometimes with Teddy and sometimes without him. Those times without his Teddy he would curl up into a ball and instead of crying he would lay frozen; too terrified to cry, too terrified to sob, too terrified to make a single sound.

Sometimes Daddy would say sorry. Often straight after he hit him so hard that the bruise showed at once. Then he would crouch down and he would, for one moment, cry and frantically say sorry and sorry again. But always, when Wally thought that Daddy would never do 'the bad' anymore, because his Daddy was nice again now, he would growl and shove him away.

He would say that he was… worthless. Wally didn't understand that word, but it was bad, because Daddy used his angry voice. And no praise or anything good came out of his mouth when his Daddy was angry.

A whimper escaped him and Wally sniffled desperately against his dirty, old teddy bear. He had never really liked that teddy, because he had gotten it from Mommy's old friend and she smelled bad; she always had a white stick in her mouth, which she sucked on and smoke came out. It was because of that stick that, when he was given the teddy, it too had smelled. Now, however, it was his only source for comfort.

Teddy made him feel safer. If only a little.

But above all, Wally wished Uncle Barry was there. Uncle Barry was so big and strong and brave and… and _powerful_. Uncle Barry would hug him and make the pain go away. And Auntie Iris would kiss his cheek and make cookies. He was so upset, because Daddy wouldn't let him see them. He had begged as much as he dared, but he always got beaten. Very badly.

Suddenly, Wally heard a noise. Another whimper came and he curled as much into a ball as possible, Teddy pressed tightly; _very_ tightly against him. He could hear footsteps and he shook in fear. Because Daddy never came upstairs, Daddy never came looking for him. But today it sounded like he was doing something new.

It scared Wally so much that his tears came falling even faster. What would Daddy do if he found him under the bed? Brave boys didn't hide and his Daddy only liked brave boys. After all, his Daddy hated him when he cried. He said that was bad, but Wally couldn't help it. He was just so frightened.

Because the tears just continued to fall, fall and fall.

Why couldn't Uncle Barry be here? Why couldn't Uncle Barry hug him and kiss him again?

Wally missed Uncle Barry.

**-o-**

The rain struck from the grey sky, droplet after droplet wetting the busy City. Barry Allen found it rather ironic that the day had been warm and bright until this moment. True, it had not been sunny, but now it was like the weather expressed the sadness they were all feeling. As it poured down he wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her near him. In response he felt her press her hand to his chest, her head buried just underneath his chin. He could feel her cold nose against his skin, and he squeezed her closer.

Though Barry and Iris knew Rudolph didn't want them there, they had decided to show either way. Meekly, Iris had protested, but her husband would have nothing of it. He had straight out told her that they had cared about Mary too and now that she was gone they should show their respects by attending her funeral. In the end, Iris had agreed, but Barry could tell she was nervous.

She hadn't dared to meet her brother's gaze even once during the funeral and her mother wasn't there either. Due to bad weather in her hometown all traffic had been shut off, hence her mother was not around to talk some sense into Rudy's head. She doubted she would have bothered though. It seemed she wasn't the only one who had given up on Rudy. Especially after the accident.

What worried the Allen couple was the fact that neither had seen their nephew since that day. From what they had been told by the doctors before ordered to leave (this, apparently, due to Rudy's commands) was that Wally had only gotten a fractured arm and a cut that needed stitching. Other then that, the little boy was in good shape.

But this was only judging by the information they had gotten two months ago. Iris longed to _know_. To hold Wally and to make sure everything was all right. Her brother, on the other hand, had isolated himself from everyone else in the family. Truthfully, they had been surprised he even made Mary's funeral happen. He had been so absent in mind lately. It was no mystery that the man was not well. Not well at all.

As Iris started to silently sob against Barry, the speedster turned to look over at his so-called brother-in-law.

How long would he last before he hurt himself? Before he hurt _Wally_?

"We're going to see him," Barry said the day after, as he approached his wife who had just sat down in the sofa, absentmindedly fumbling with the remote. When he saw the confused look on her face, he chose to continue. "We're going to see Wally, Iris. I don't care what your brother thinks; he's kept us from the kid far too long and I'm worried sick practically everyday about him being okay."

The determination in her husband's face made Iris realise how serious Barry was at the moment. Not that his voice expressed anything different. Also, when she eyed him it dawned on her that he was wearing shoes and his jacket, apparently ready to exit the house.

"Barry," she sighed, her voice so tired, so _exhausted_ by everything that had happened lately. And now her husband was acting completely brashly as well? She just couldn't take this. "We can't just march over to his house and demand to see Wally. All Rudy has to do is to call the police and we'll be forced off the property. He needs to cool down."

"I don't care about that." Barry zipped his jacket closed as if to prove his point. "I'm going to make sure Wally is okay, whether Rudy likes it or not. Damn it, Iris! We haven't seen the kid in _months_. How do we know he's even eating? Or getting enough water? Or sleeping? Or _anything_. You said so yourself; your brother is getting sicker and now you want him to 'cool off'? I don't think so!"

"Barry I don't want you running over there, acting completely irrational and get the police on your neck!" Iris yelled, now standing up with a look that screamed of tiredness. Her head felt so heavy and she just wanted to go to bed; sleep away all the pain, all the concern and _hurt_. She didn't want to think of her brother, of Mary's death, of… of her _nephew_. She just wanted to slip away and never have to feel this _pain_ ever again. Was that too much to ask?

Barry was suddenly straight up in her face; he expressed anger. So much _anger_. And she hadn't seen it that clearly before – never on happy, cheerful Barry Allen. Never directed toward her, because they'd never been fighting like this. Never like this.

"I _am_ going to see him, Iris."

His tone sounded… so _deadly_. It scared her a bit, but she pushed it away. He was tired too. She could tell.

"No! I don't want you to! You'll just make it worse!" Iris screamed, her tears now falling rapidly from her cheeks. She was shaking; shaking so badly and she just couldn't hold all the sadness back anymore. She reached out to force Barry to stay, but he was too fast.

Her hand was in mid air and no one was before her. It was so upsetting, and the feeling of downright betrayal lingered enough in her to make her break down. Iris Allen fell to her knees, face buried into the palms of her hands and her shoulders shaking horribly. Sob after sob escaped her and she cried.

Cried, and cried. Cried until she felt dry. How had everything gone so wrong? _Why_ had everything gone so wrong? _Why_?

**-o-**

The house smelled like alcohol, smoke – _trash_. Hadn't it been for the fact that Barry had faced worse smells during his time as the Flash, he would have cringed and covered his nose. Instead he stood tall as he pushed the door further up. His gaze moved across every inch of the house. Beer bottles, used cigarettes, dirty clothes, junk food takeaway boxes – it all covered the hallway, side by side.

Green eyes narrowed and lips pursed, as he took one step into the West household. The concern Barry had held within his heart ever since the car accident squeezed tighter around his heart and moved further inside, eyes darting from the living room that was openly attached to the hallway. None of the rooms looked any different – they were all the same, though Barry decided to leave the bathroom out.

He had been in households like _these_ before and the bathroom was always the worse scenario. _Always_.

Rudolph was not home; his car was gone and Barry could only presume that the man was at work. Cautiously, and with far more patience than he usually had, Barry made his way to the kitchen where he glanced around, not liking the smell that emitted from underneath the sink. Rotten fruit, rotten food in general – yeah, that was what lay there, no doubt.

In his silent mind Barry could just not fathom why he hadn't come here before. If he showed this to the child services, they would have to take action. Wally could not continue to live here. That boy deserved safety and support now; not an out of control father who was falling apart for each day that passed. One could blame this on Mary's death, of course, but Rudy had been acting irrational before.

Barry could not leave Wally here a second longer. He would _not_ let the young boy stay in such a hellhole. No way.

Absentmindedly, he swept his gaze over the kitchen once more. It was then he discovered it; the mass of papers spread over the counter. Even before he had fully made his way over, Barry knew what it was. It only strengthened his determination that Wally had to come living with them and _now_.

All over the counter lay hundreds of bills; far too many for Barry to count himself at the moment. If Rudy hadn't paid them, it either meant that said job was going bad _or_ that he had lost it. Frankly, it would not surprise Barry if it turned out to be the latter. Rudy was a freaking mess now and usually messes didn't get to keep their job. They needed help – desperately.

"That's it," murmured Barry gruffly. "I'm taking Wally."

The speedster turned on his heels, ready to storm home to tell Iris what they were going to do. But as he had made his way through the living room, briskly but without super-speed, a whimper was heard from upstairs. This sound caused Barry to freeze on the spot, his green eyes widening.

It couldn't be…

Minutes ticked by and Barry became more and more certain that his imagination had been playing tricks on him. However, just as he was about to take another step, the same whimper sounded, faintly, from above his head. Horrified by his sudden suspicion of who it could be, Barry used his super speed to run up the stairs and into the room he knew belonged to his beloved nephew.

Silence and emptiness was all that met him. Wally's room looked like it always did; untidy bed, and some toys scattered across the floor. Though what worried Barry was that they all seemed to be broken. True, Wally was somewhat of a reckless child, but he always took good care of his toys. Iris had taught him that and had always said that if he did play with them carefully then he would, most likely, keep them for a long time.

Needless to say, the young boy had loved his toys so much that listening to his aunt was no problem. Now, however, all his cars, his action figures, his various drawings of the Flash - they were torn, ripped, damaged.

Feeling his concern grow, Barry threw his gaze in every direction at a time. "Wally? Kiddo, are you here?" he asked. He tried to keep his voice soft and gentle, but he failed at it. He sounded far too... concerned; frantic even.

With a worried frown on his face he stepped farther into the room. The need to get a response grew heatedly for every passing second. "Wally, it's Uncle Barry; come on out," he said quietly, carefully. He took another step. "Please, Wally. Uncle Barry's here to take you home to Auntie Iris, okay?"

A shifting sound came from underneath the bed, and Barry was by it instantly. He crouched down and looked underneath where the sounnd was coming from. And his heart skipped a beat, both in relief and dread due to what he saw.

Wally lay curled, his hands wrapped around the worn, ugly teddy he had gotten from Girth, Mary's childhood friend. The boy's cheeks were red and silent tears were still making their way down the sore skin. It was too dark to see, but judging by the smell Barry came to suspect that the kid had not been bathed in forever.

How could he have let this happen? He should have _known_. He _had_ known. Or, at least he'd had a feeling.

From what Barry could gather Wally was not awake. He was engulfed in an uneasy sleep and kept turning and twisting while he occasionally whimpered. Biting his lip, Barry crawled underneath the bed and proceeded by slowly, gently touching the boy's shoulder. The reaction was an unexpected one.

Wally's green eyes flew open and he screamed, purely on instinct it seemed. Quickly, Barry pulled the squirming, sobbing child against his chest, for so to get out from under the bed. Wally's terrified protests broke Barry's heart, but soon he had grabbed the young boy's cheeks and forced him to look him in the eyes.

"Wally, Wally, shhhh, it's okay," soothed Barry calmly. "It's me. It's uncle Barry. You don't have to scared; I'm here now. I'll protect you, I promise."

For a moment, the kid froze. Then small, firm hands clutched around the speedster's shirt while the flushed, tear filled face pressed against Barry's muscular chest. The sobbing from Wally returned as Barry rocked his nephew, the hero's arms practically covering him. A big, safe hand stroked through the child's red hair, waiting patiently for Wally's sobs to subside.

It took an hour until they became fewer and fewer. Occasionally, another sob or whimper would escape him, but now they were more like small hiccups. Barry knew his shirt was probably covered in snot by now, but he couldn't find himself to care at all. His mind was going over every thought, every guilty feeling that had swelled up in him.

To think he hadn't done this before.

_Why?_ Just… _why_? He had suspected this. He'd had this _feeling_. Why hadn't he reacted upon his instincts? Why had he let Rudy keep Wally when he had seen what changes was occurring within that man's head? _Why _hadn't he protected him?

"It's going to be okay, Wally; I promise," whispered Barry intensely as he pressed the, now half-asleep boy, against his chest. "No one's going to hurt you ever again. _No one_. Not as long as I'm around."

**-o-**

Barry turned the doorknob and moved inside. He threw the keys onto the small table they had standing in the hallway, before both hands once again turned to squeeze Wally close to his chest. Despite that boy obviously needed a bath Barry felt resentment even for letting him go for that, but he knew that it would do Wally good to finally get washed and cleaned. God knows how long he had been wearing the same clothes.

Quickly, though without super-speed in fright of waking Wally, Barry made his way into the living room, for only to see his wife fast asleep on the sofa. Her eyes were red and puffy, indicating that she had been crying. For a moment he felt guilt for yelling at her, but when he looked down at Wally, dirty and frightened beyond belief, he couldn't find himself to regret anything.

Well, except for being far too late when he should have gotten his nephew a long time ago.

With silent steps Barry made his way upstairs. There he entered the bathroom at once, making sure to not dawdle with turning on the water. As he waited for the tub to be filled, he crouched down beside it and slowly started to undress his nephew. He tried to keep Wally asleep as long as possible but it didn't take long before the boy's eyes flew open and he whimpered.

Whimpered _loudly_.

"Shh," soothed Barry, patting his nephew's hair. "It's okay. Nothing's going to hurt you buddy; we're just going to give you a good, warm bath, okay? Then you can go to sleep in me and auntie's bed, how about that? And tomorrow we can go to the park and play ball. Just like we did last time you were here, right? Oh and guess what…" Barry smiled when he realised that his distractions were working. Wally's eyes were namely looking up at him now, glinting with some kind of curiosity.

"What?" the child whispered when his uncle didn't continue. Barry was now removing his little shirt, tossing it aside. His pants and underwear was gone too, ready to be thrown in the trash. Barry was going to buy new clothes for him and new toys too. That this kid deserved that after everything he had gone through.

Only thinking about it made Barry furious; so _dangerous_, that he instantly distracted himself by answering his beloved nephew's question. "Guess," he coaxed as he lowered the child into the tub, trying desperately to ignore all those _bruises_. If he stared at them too long he would do something horrible, he just _knew_.

"No, tell me!" demanded Wally, throwing some water in his uncle's direction. Now the child was grinning, if only a little, and it calmed Barry greatly.

"What? No, no! You have to guess or I'm zipping my mouth shut!" Barry teased playfully, running two of his fingers across his lips as if to prove his point. It made Wally's smile stretch somewhat and the speedster felt something heat up from inside his chest. He had missed the boy so much; so much that it physically had _hurt_.

Said young boy pouted, as his uncle massaged shampoo into his fiery red locks. It was comforting and Wally found himself smiling. Yet, his mind was not taken off the surprise Uncle Barry had promised.

"I don't know what to guess," Wally whined and spattered some water in his uncle's face once more. At this Barry grabbed his arms with his hand and playfully tickled the boy, which instantly made the redhead giggle.

"There, I was wondering when you would laugh again," his uncle said affectionately. For a moment he just washed the boy's back and hair, knowing Wally was occupying himself with thinking of what surprise this uncle had for him. He was such a stubborn little thing, at least after realising that whining would not get him anywhere.

The silence in the bathroom was comforting. For each minute Wally became more and more tired, his emerald green eyes closing more and more. However, when Barry pushed the swamp to a certain spot the kid yelped in pain, before he started crying. His uncle quickly, took him out of the tub, wrapped him up in a towel and then kissed his forehead affectionately. "Shhhh… buddy, shhh…" whispered the Flash. "Where does it hurt?"

"M-my… m-my b-bah-back," hiccupped Wally, sniffling as the tears fell gently down his cheeks. "D-Daddy… D-a-daddy w-was m-m-mad a-and h-hit so-so _hard_. A-and, a-and he-he sai-said I-I w-was b-bad!"

If any person with just a tint of compassion in them had seen the child now, Barry was willing to bet his own super-powers that something within them must have stung. Wally looked so fragile, so scared, so _confused_. And who could blame him? Parents weren't supposed to hit their children, parents weren't supposed to leave them alone, or scare them.

No, they should always be there to comfort, to teach, to love…

"U-Uncle B-Barry?"

At this the blond haired man turned to look down at his sobbing nephew. Briefly he wondered when the boy had learned to speak more correctly. Had they really been _that_ long apart? It didn't feel like it and yet he was certain he had missed more than he first thought. At least more than he would have liked.

"Yes, kiddo?"

The way Uncle Barry said his name made Wally snuggle closer to him, the strong arms tightening comfortably. Uncle Barry didn't hit, Uncle Barry didn't yell. He was nice, and cheerful and hugged him all the time. He kissed his forehead, just like Mommy and Auntie Iris used to do. Uncle Barry… Uncle Barry _loved_ him. So, so why didn't his daddy? What had he done to make his daddy so angry?

"Am… am… am I… bad?" Wally's grip on his uncle tightened. "I-is that w-why… why Daddy doesn't… doesn't love me?"

What could one possibly answer to that? What could Barry say to give comfort in such a situation? For a moment he just rocked the young child, a frown marring his face as he listened to his precious nephew cry against him. He couldn't focus on being angry, couldn't focus on of the pure _hatred_ he held for Rudolph West. He needed to put his strength and time where it belonged; namely to comfort Wally, make him feel _safe_.

With a sigh, Barry took his finger under Wally's chin, tilting up so the little boy was looking at him. He wiped away the tears with his thumb, let Wally blow his nose into the piece of toilet paper he grabbed and then he made the boy look at him once more. "Your dad…" Barry kept himself from growling. "… your dad is very sick, Wally. That's why he's acting the way he does. He isn't… he isn't how grown-ups are supposed to be."

All he received as a response was a sniffle and then Barry chose to continue. "I want to tell you something though. You're perfect, kiddo. There is _nothing _wrong with you. You have done _nothing wrong_, you are _not bad_. You're a great kid and… and Auntie Iris and I love you with all our hearts."

And Wally threw his arms around his uncle, tears once more pressing against his eyelids and fell free. In Uncle Barry's embrace everything was safe. Uncle Barry loved him. Auntie Iris loved him. They _loved_ him and he wasn't bad, they said. His daddy was sick, uncle Barry said.

But, would Daddy get better? Would he… would he stop hitting him then? Would he _love_ him again?

**-o-**

He knew he had fallen sleep with Wally in his arms when he woke up 22:44 in his and Iris' queen sized bed. The child was tucked into the duvet, sleeping soundly while his uncle's arms were wrapped around him over the covers. Barry would suspect him to be extremely hot by now, but since he himself was feeling chilly without a duvet, he suspected that underneath it was a good, comfortable temperature.

Yawning, Barry removed his arm and sat up. He looked around, finding the source for the cold at once; the window was completely open. The speedster ignored it for the time being, and instead turned to look at his nephew. Wally's breath was silent, controlled – _calm_. At least the boy was not having nightmares anymore.

As Barry closed the window in the room he wondered why Iris hadn't woken him up and demanded an answer as to why their nephew was currently in their bedroom. He then remembered where he'd last seen her. Was she still asleep on the sofa? There was a definite possibility for that. Both he and Iris had been dead tired lately. In fact, he was surprised _he_ had been able to wake up at all.

He made his way downstairs, slightly worried what Iris would say, but also determined that he'd done the right thing. She would agree once he told her about Rudolph's abuse of his son. And then they would have to get Rudy some help. One thing was for sure, Wally was not going back. He was going to stay right here with him and Iris, where he was _safe_. And let's face it, he was _the Flash_. Better protection was hard to find.

"Iris, honey, I have something I need to tell y-"

But Barry never finished the sentence. His green eyes landed on the hallway. Or more precisely, on the door.

It was open, though from the looks of it his wife was the one who was the reason for it.

He could only see her back, but that was enough. She was tense, she was _frozen_.

"Iris?" he asked warily, eyes narrowing.

And she turned, eyes confused, hurt, _sad_. "B-Barry? You… _took_ Wally?" she whispered.

It was then he saw him. Rudolph West was on their doorstep, shabby looking with dark circles under his eyes. Briefly, Barry wondered how Iris had not commented upon how he reeked of alcohol, but maybe she was just shocked he talked to her at all. Or, it could be what Rudolph had said that had shocked her to silence.

"_You,_" snarled Rudy as Barry came down to stand a couple of metres from his wife's side. He pushed himself inside, gaining a frown from his sister who was still out of words. He walked up to Barry who stood firm, not even batting an eyelash as the shorter man pointed a finger at him. "_Where_ is my son? You have _no right_ to take him!"

"In fact I do," Barry sneered, seemingly surprising Rudolph with the lack of reaction from his 'threatening' approach. The speedster's own eyes narrowed further as he bowed down, his face getting closer to Rudy's in a hostile manner. "You need _help_, West, and if you're not willing to seek it out yourself I'm going to do it for you."

"How _dare you_-"

"You _leave_ your son _alone_, without any form for care, you don't feed him anymore, you don't bathe him; you overall just _do not take care of him_. And the worst part, you _hit him_ because you cannot control your anger!" yelled Barry straight to the other man's face. To say Rudolph looked baffled would have been an understatement. The Flash growled. "If you put _one more hand_ on Wally, I'll make sure you have to breathe through a tube the rest of your miserable life."

"You're delusional! I would _never_ do that!" Rudy's protests were meek though.

Iris stepped back, her head shaking slowly as tears formed in her eyes. "How… How _could_ you," she whispered. "Y-you _h-hit_ him? Y-you… y-you _hit_…"

"Don't listen to him, Iris. He has been jealous of our close bond ever since he became your boyfriend!" Rudy sneered in Barry's direction; once more the speedster had to remind himself to stay calm. "I would _never_ hit Wallace! I _am_ taking good care of him!"

"Liar," growled the blond haired hero, his fists clenching. "_Liar_!"

Suddenly, much to Iris' horror, Rudy's fists lunged for Barry. The other man did not know, however, that he was dealing with the Flash. Before, he could lash out Barry had already predicted with his super-fast mind where the fist would go and he stepped aside, making sure to keep his speed normal.

"Rudy!" gasped Iris; she was crying now, silently.

"Give me my son!"

"No!" roared Barry.

"He belongs to _me_!"

The two men stared each other down, hatred so evident that it was frightening. Rudolph had quickly turned his back to the staircase. The mere fact that he and Barry had switched positions after the lunge toward the speedster was what caused a horrible nightmare for both Iris and Barry.

"D-Daddy?"

Wally, clad in an oversized, blue pyjamas, was making his way downstairs, bare feet slowly carrying him down step for step. It happened too fast for even Barry to react, because as soon as Wally had reached the ground where his father was standing, Rudy had grabbed him.

The young boy screamed, but before Barry and Iris could move in, Rudy had taken out a knife and straightened it toward them. "You stop right there!" he roared, waving the knife while his gaze was shifting. "One more step and _he_ and _you_ are gone. I _mean it_, I'll take him first! If he's not staying with _me_ he's not staying with _anybody_!"

Barry felt his heart throb tremendously against his ribcage as Rudolph held the knife against the child's throat.

Wally was crying, screaming, squirming. He sounded so frightened, _broken_. It was driving him insane.

"Rudolph!" Iris screamed desperately. "Don't! Don't do it, _please_. Y-you _can't_. Your _own son_; _stop_!" She wasn't able to make one single, understandable sentence. She was too shocked and horrified.

"That's right _my son_!" The knife was almost against the flesh and Barry felt powerless. Would he be fast enough? Would he make it? Would he… would he be able to save Wally before Rudy did something he, undoubtedly, would regret? If he ever returned to normal, because this right here was _too_ crazy to be thought of as anything else but insane.

"Rudy," spoke Barry, slowly taking one step forward. "_Put. Down. The knife._"

"NO!" As Wally screamed Rudolph put the blade closer to the boy's throat. "NEVER!"

Then the knife was withdrawn and he instead pointed at Barry, which was all the speedster had waited for. Before the man could move he dashed forward. He was too fast for Rudy to react and soon the man was knocked up against the wall. Rudolph West fell shortly after, unconscious and with some blood dripping from the back of his head.

"Wally!" exclaimed Iris as she moved toward the child. She threw herself on her knees and scooped the sobbing child into her arms. He was shaking so horribly, his eyes so wide, his whole body… so _stiff_. He wouldn't stop quivering no matter how much she soothed and hugged him.

As Barry ran Rudy to the police station in his Flash costume, Iris got her nephew in the car. She was unable to pry him off of her as she drove, but with help from the doctors they got him into a hospital bed; they decided to put him out, before instructing Iris to leave. She was led to the waiting room where she could do nothing but wait. Wait to know if everything was fine, wait to know what was going to happen – wait for Barry.

It took an hour before Barry arrived. He was embraced by his crying wife instantly, who apologized over and over again for not trusting his decisions. But Barry had long since forgiven her.

For a long time they just talked, Barry wiping her tears and being comforting in order for Iris to calm down. It was understandable that she was upset, however. What her brother had tried to do, how _unwell_ Rudy had become – it obviously had affected her greatly. For Barry it was slightly easier, because he hadn't thought highly of Rudolph ever. Now, all respect (the little amount he had already had) was gone.

In the end, Iris cried herself to sleep against her husband's chest. But Barry didn't fall asleep. He waited. Just waited. Because the moment they got some information of what was going on, he would see his nephew. And no one was going to stop him.

It took another couple of hours, before they got the answers they craved.

"Mr and Mrs. Allen, I'm Doctor Yen," said the female, Asian doctor as she approached the pair in the sofa. Iris had barely opened her eyes when she came walking, but this of course made her quite awake. The redhead woman straightened up, her eyes pleading. "We just want to inform you that Wallace is all right; a little wound on his throat is all he has, physically, as a reminder of what happened, which I, while I'm here, have to say I'm deeply sorry for."

At this Barry and Iris nodded, not feeling like talking until they knew exactly how their nephew was doing. The black haired doctor sighed, before looking them seriously in the eyes. The Allen couple felt their throats go dry. What was she going to say? Was she going to talk to them about the… the evidence for the abuse?

"It's easy for us to see that he has been mistreated," Dr. Yen said, her sharp face calm, passive. "Due to that and what just occurred…" The doctor paused and Iris inched onto the edge of the sofa, her look getting more and more desperate. "… Wallace has developed a memory disorder."

"M-memory disorder?" Iris repeated. At that moment she felt Barry squeeze her hand, tightly, comfortingly.

"Yes, two actually," Yen confirmed. "Repressed memories are one of them. The traumatic experience with his father's abuse, his mother's sudden death and being taken from you, two people he obviously loves dearly, has made him repress the memories of the abuse and his mother's death."

Iris frowned, but didn't speak. Barry on the other hand knew what she was saying; it made his heart sink. "He doesn't remember anything of it?"

"No, he doesn't," the doctor sighed. "And there's something more."

"What?" Barry asked.

Yen hesitated, but only for a moment and then chose to tell them straight out. "We are very certain he has a false memory syndrome," she told, causing both Iris' and Barry's eyes to widen greatly. "Which, you may know, means that he has a condition in which his identity and relationships are affected by memories. And these, are factually incorrect but are strongly believed by him."

They exchanged looks, Iris feeling tears once again press on. But she was so _tired_ of crying. So _tired_ of feeling down. Her head was so heavy and it made her feel so drained and powerless.

"W-what does… what has changed? What makes you believe he suffers from this?" Barry finally enquired.

There was an indescribable look on the doctor's face when she said: "Because, when he woke up he screamed for his parents. And it wasn't Rudolph and Mary West he was referring too."

Once again, both sets of eyes widened.

"… it was you."

**-o-**

Central City, 2001

"Daddy? Daddy? What is that? Is that what makes the Flash? Is that what made you a _superhero_?" asked five-year-old Wally Allen West as he tugged on his dad's lab coat, desperately wanting the blond haired man to lift up him for him to see. Said man did just that, causing the boy to squeal as he was placed upon the silver table. Wally's emerald green eyes widened by all the chemicals before him. They were _so many_.

"Sure is kiddo," said Barry, proudly ruffling the boy's red locks as he grinned up at his father. Said man then proceeded with showing the boy the mass he was making, causing Wally's freckled nose to wrinkle itself. "This made Daddy the most powerful man in the universe."

"But… what about Superman? Or Batman?"

At this Barry faked offended at his young son. "Wha…? Are you, young man, implying that I am _not_ as great as my colleagues?"

Wally giggled and stuck out his tongue. As he studied the chemical he didn't notice how his father's eyes softened, how he soothed his back and drew the kid closer to himself. The affection in Barry's eyes would be hard to ignore if Wally hadn't been so occupied with the exciting experiment.

It was all right though.

Because Wally knew he was loved dearly by his mother and father; Iris and Barry Allen.

"Daddy, you think I can be like you someday?" Wally asked, his expression so excited that Barry started chuckling. Oh that boy; so much life, so much speed. There they truly had something in common.

"You can be whoever you want, Wally," murmured the hero with a smile, just as he finished the chemical. The one that had made him the Flash. The one he was showing his son now, because the boy was five and loved science; almost as much as he idolised Central's local hero. "Even if it's me."

"Really? Am I hero too, Daddy?"

Barry's thoughts drifted back to everything that had happened a year ago and he nodded as he patted his son's head. "Yeah, you're hero, Wally-boy," the speedster proudly said. "You are the Flash's son, after all."

"Yeah!" agreed Wally, bouncing up and down.

Outside the lab there was a heavy storm looming over Central City. Rain was falling, the sky was roaring.

And, lightning was flashing, soon ready to strike the earth.


	5. Part 5: To Have a Child

**Child's Mind**

**Part: V**

"_Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. _  
><em>It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body.<em>"

~ Elizabeth Stone

**-o-**

Metropolis, 1995

Clark Kent's life was good. Actually, it was great.

It hadn't always been like that though. Two years ago the only time he felt good about himself was when he saved the world as Superman or talked to his Ma and Pa over the phone. There had been too much to think of and worry about back then. He'd felt alone, different and though he'd seemed fine to the outside world, he had constantly dealt with loneliness.

He was a Kryptonian on earth. Though this planet had been his home since he was a child that had been raised by Martha and Jonathan Kent, the slightly outcast feeling just never vanished. Because Clark knew he had been different. When his teenage classmates had complained about constantly dealing with the feeling of being 'different', _he_ had always known. Had _always_ felt like that in a far deeper way than they ever had.

Life had seemed predictable, even as the Superman. But, then he and his long time love-interest, Lois Lane, had finally gotten together. First as only Clark and Lois, much to Man of Steel's happiness. However, he soon noticed that Lois felt guilty for being with him and he knew why. Because she also loved his other self, she loved Superman. Fortunately for him, he was both and after three months of being together, when he knew Lois was close to break it off, he told her.

This had earned him a very passionate, loving kiss, though also a week on the couch (in his own apartment, mind you), because if there was something Lois Lane did not like it was being "lied" to. Clark knew she was happy though, because she was smiling far more than she usually did and that was all he needed.

For a long time they were happy, truly and utterly happy. After a year, Clark asked her to buy a new apartment with him and she had said yes. It had been weird to adjust to being a serious couple, because both had only played with the idea of going steady but never actually thought it would happen so fast.

Now that they were, they soon made it work to the extent that everything felt perfect. Well, _almost_ perfect. Up until one moment, Clark had been so ridiculously happy that he hadn't even considered that Lois felt something was missing. However, it became apparent the morning he woke up and she wasn't by his side.

The night before had been amazing to say the least and usually when they had such nights where making love was what occupied them Lois would snuggle close to him whenever he opened his eyes.

Needless to say, he knew something was wrong when he woke up a Saturday's morning and she was not there.

Blue eyes frowned deeply, seemingly confused as to why his girlfriend was not around. Silently, Clark tossed the covers to the side, before getting out of bed himself. Maybe there was a big case at the Daily Planet? It was fully possible that Lois had flown out the door if there was something new and important going on, but usually she would leave a note for him then.

A note that would easily be seen when he awoke.

Since there was none, the Man of Steel had to admit that he felt a slight twinge of worry for his girlfriend. However, it didn't last for long. He quickly found her on the balcony of their apartment; there she was dressed in a red night robe, and a towel was wrapped around the top of her head, kind of like a turban. Obviously, she had just showered.

"What're you looking at?" he asked her curiously as he approached.

Lois didn't even turn her head, nor did she show any sign of answering. It wasn't until Clark put his hand on her shoulder that she slowly gazed at him. She looked sad. "We keep making love, Clark," she whispered while she frowned deeply. "Over and over, and we never use protection. So why…?" She stopped herself and let the question linger in the air.

Knowing exactly what she was getting at, the Kryptonian sighed. He sat down beside her on one of their chairs, and grabbed her hand. This caught her attention and their eyes met once more; his look was sad, just like hers.

"You know why, Lois. I told you this a long time ago," said Clark calmly. "Our biology is too different. For a Kryptonian to have a child with someone from earth… it takes a miracle. And miracles can take forever."

The reporter sighed deeply, her feet placing themselves in her lover's lap. For a moment she just studied him, feeling her heart sink greatly. He was a great man, and that wasn't just because he was Superman, the famous hero of Metropolis, of the world. It was because he was a good guy. Full of empathy, compassion – _love_. She felt rather stupid for not noticing that when he had just been plain, clumsy Clark Kent, but now that she knew them both. Now that she had them both in one, everything was perfect.

Except… except the need to have a baby. Lois Lane was no pushover. She was a proud, independent woman who had no trouble taking care of herself or her own life… Okay, so maybe there had been a _few_ accidents she had been exposed to (accidents Superman seemed to be the one rescuing her from most of the time), but overall she wasn't the type of female who needed someone to look out for her.

But having a baby, didn't relate to any of those things. Having a baby was special. And she wanted one. She wanted one _so badly_.

It was weird, because when she was younger she had no ambitions of getting either a husband or children. Lois wanted a career – she wanted success. But now she was climbing her way upwards and even though she was getting far more public knowledge for her work at the Daily Planet there was still something missing.

Clark took a hold of her feet. As she was deep in thought he tenderly massaged them, while she untied the big turban on her head. She could tell from the way he was looking at her that he wished for it to. He wanted to have a baby with her. He wanted them to make that sort of commitment. Silently, they both longed to be a family.

With a content sigh (due to the messaging of her feet), Lois reached out and turned on their white pocket radio, which conveniently was placed by the small table beside her chair. However, the moment she turned it on she regretted it.

"_-e report live from the Hob's Bay where another one of the mysterious giant robots have appeared! It is heading out for-_"

And Lois turned it off. "Looks like you gotta go, Smallville," she murmured. "Metropolis needs Superman."

Clark let go of a sigh, seemingly not that up for breaking this moment either. He stood up and bowed over to kiss her mouth, but she turned her head and instead his lips connected with her temple. He knew far too well what that meant, so he decided to leave her be. Lois being moody was nothing he could change at this moment. Not when _another_ robot had once again entered the city (thanks, Luthor; it was the fifth time this week).

"I'll be home by dinner-time, if not before," Clark announced, as if his job was the most normal thing in the world. He served her a soft smile when she glanced up at him, before exiting their balcony. He reappeared seconds later, clad in his Superman-outfit. And then he flew off, while Lois watched him aloofly.

"Yeah," mumbled the reporter as she picked up the notepad and pen from the table beside her. "And I'll be here writing the story."

**-o-**

Superman made his way through the Watchtower, his expression a bit more exhausted than usual. As he approached the bridge he found Batman, Flash, Green Arrow and Green Lantern, all of them set for their upcoming mission. It wasn't really much to brag about (not that anyone but Flash every bothered to brag about their job), but it was interesting nonetheless.

Two days ago Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter and Red Tornado had infiltrated a facility known as Cadmus. It had been taken down by them after a couple of hours, but the history of the facility was peculiar enough for a throughout scan before it to be declared finished and temporarily handled. Since most of the other Leaguers were already occupied, the five remaining members that were free had decided to do it together.

The faster they got it done, the faster they could go home. Superman felt that even Batman was a little anxious to be done with the day; and he was usually the ridiculously focused one.

"I still feel a bit ashamed that they were able to go on for such a long time without any of us taking notice," Hal said as they entered the ruins of the facility. His eyes scanned the area, before he held out his ring. Lantern sent out a ray to give them some light, though also for the purpose of easily detecting if something should move toward them.

As usual, Batman was walking in front, seemingly more silent than usual. He did break the silence though with somewhat of an aloof comment directed toward Hal. "It wasn't a matter of notice, but rather a matter of failed priority."

"You were suspicious of this place, weren't you?" Flash questioned, though he partly knew the answer already.

"Yes, but it wasn't enough to blindly investigate. Of course the fire was the reason I decided to send out a squad; I never imagined they would have gotten this far with their little science projects though, if my suspicions were correct," Batman spoke, his gaze shifting slightly to the side. They stepped in front of the empty hole that once had held an express elevator, all of them knowing it was Sub-Level 52 that was left to investigate.

Hal stepped up beside Batman and made a fast ground. Once the heroes had stepped on it, they moved down to the floors that had been hidden from the world for so long. Superman's thoughts were elsewhere though. It seemed his colleagues hadn't noticed yet, so he tried not to make it obvious, as well as he tried to focus, but it was hard. His mind would not quit replaying this morning with him and Lois.

"What a mess," Flash remarked silently as they landed, each hero scanning the area warily before stepping further into the crimson coloured cave. The Scarlet Speedster found himself frowning as his eyes landed on the millions of pods. Inside were these Genomorphs that had been discovered within the facility. Apparently, Cadmus had made them as weapons.

For what, well, that was still a mystery, hence the reason as to why this mission would only be qualified as temporarily handled.

The Genomorphs that were made to generate the buildings own power lay dead in their pods. Superman threw them a brief glance, whilst the others stopped; Batman's piercing gaze seemed to bore itself into every corner of this place. It was like the Dark Knight was trying to solve a puzzle. Superman couldn't really blame him.

The Boy Scout walked a bit ahead. He came to an iron door; it was formed round and reminded him of a bank vault. He threw a glance over his shoulder, before looking back up at the vault. Then he took hold of it and threw it aside like it was a Japanese shove door. Hal, Barry, Bruce and Oliver had just caught up to him when sky blue eyes looked around the area.

They landed on something… something that was throwing off a horrific smell.

"Wh-what _is_ that?" Superman asked, his nose wrinkling slightly by the view before him.

Flash looked a bit green as he stepped beside the man of steel. What lay there on the metal floor was hard to tell, at least to a certain degree. Slime, blood, _skin_ – it all lay spread out over the ground. The Man of Steel's eyes widened as he scanned it with his sky blue eyes; this had belonged to humans. It was human organs, human _flesh_.

The speedster swallowed, his gaze fixing itself on the pile of inner organs mixed with blood and skin. They were heroes, yes, but it was hard _not_ to feel a little bit nauseous when he gazed upon it. For not to mention it was so _much_ of it. Had it been only small amounts it had been more bearable to watch.

Batman moved forward, his composure stiff and emotionless like usual. He didn't even flinch or wrinkle his nose as he crouched down in front of the bloodbath. The weird thing was there were no heads, no arms, no legs… Nothing. The Dark Knight narrowed his eyes; Flash swore he could hear the wheels inside that detective's head turn.

Superman, Flash, Green Lantern and Batman remained still, their eyes going over what was before them over and over. Green Arrow on the other hand had decided to take in the whole view of the cave they were in. His green eyes landed on what was ahead of them, behind the pile of entrails.

Pods. Many of them with wires hanging down from the surface. They were broken, shattered. And blood was dripping from them, leading all the way back to the gory mass. Arrow was not anywhere near as great of a detective as Batman, but he could already tell that whoever's entrails were draped out over the ground came from those pods.

Superman was too focused on the pile to notice that Bruce took out two iron sticks from his utility belt. It wasn't before the Dark Knight spoke he ripped his gaze away and rather focused on Batman as he studied what they had before them. "There are remains of a brains here," informed the Bat, eyes narrowing as he scanned the bloody mess once more. "My guess is… they were making something here and we discovering the facility and interrupting everything here, caused it – _they_ – to die."

"_They_?" Hal snorted. "Judging by the mess, I doubt they had time to become a _they_ at all. Are there any sign of a skeleton?"

"No," Batman replied. "None whatsoever."

Flash crossed his arms. "What do you think they were doing?" he asked curiously, and less green than he'd been.

There was a long, long pause, in which no hero said a word. Batman seemed deep in thought, Superman was frowning, while Green Lantern and Green Arrow were exchanging looks occasionally. Flash, being the rather impulsive one moved forward toward the pods. "The computer is still working," he announced not long after.

Batman moved up to him. It took only a couple of seconds before the Dark Knight had hacked the system. But what else was new? Then, Barry watched interested as Bruce scrolled through the information. It wasn't before the Batman showed emotions Flash became really worried. Suddenly, the Caped Crusader looked _shocked_. That surely did not happen often.

"Bats, what's wrong?" Green Arrow asked as he too joined them. Hal and Superman were not far behind.

It took a while before Batman answered them, which was rather unusual. Though Bruce was _obviously_ not the most chatty of them, he did normally answer questions that regarded missions quite quickly. However, this was an exception. It was as if he was debating whether it was a good idea to tell them but inside his head instead of voicing it.

In the end, Gotham's protector opened his mouth. "They were doing cloning experiments," said Batman, not sparing his teammates a single glance.

"_Cloning_?" repeated Hal in disbelief.

"Yes." There was a long pause, before Batman finally turned his head. White cowl eyes met Superman's blue ones and he said: "They were trying to make a clone of Superman."

**-o-**

His eyes swept over each sentence, reading it fast yet not in a way that would make him miss something. They narrowed more and more the longer he kept reading over the report and in the end he slammed the papers down onto the tabletop. Luckily for him, it wasn't enough to break the table, but to Clark's irritation the legs had slightly curved.

Briefly, he felt some shame, because controlling his super-strength was something he deemed necessary no matter if he was alone or just with Lois. He had made it clear, as Clark Kent he didn't need any superpowers. But sometimes, when the frustration and anger became too great, it wavered a bit. Not much, but enough to… well, the slightly bent table legs was a good example.

Cloning. Someone had tried to make a copy of him, use _his_ DNA to make another being. But according to what Batman had gathered – after going through every possible data file from the Cadmus computers – they hadn't tried making a new Superman. No, they had tried to make… a Super… boy?

They had called it 'Project Kr' and the goal was to create a teen clone of him. What said clone was going to be used for had been impossible for even Bruce to find out, which meant it was highly possible that the escapers from Cadmus had taken the last trace of any file that had held that sort of information.

Superman pursed his lips, a frown marring his handsome face. The thought that someone may have _his_ DNA out there and the fact that it had already been used more than once made him furious. Also, the more he thought back on the pile of blood, organs and skin they had come over the more nauseous he felt. That mass had been, according to the report, seven clone babies. The moment they didn't get the nutrition and other chemicals that were needed for their still unstable bodies they had dissolved.

Undoubtedly, Clark was relieved that neither of the clones had survived, but despite how wrong it was, his thoughts had began to wander when he had looked over the files with Bruce in the Batcave. Flash, Green Arrow, Martian Manhunter and both Green Lanterns had also been present, when Oliver had briefly asked aloud why the clones had been so unstable. Bruce, of course, had the answer.

Apparently, the fact that the babies only had one DNA donor had not been enough. Though Bruce had also informed that the whole cloning process was difficult enough to make them unstable in the first place, he had a theory that with two DNA donors the cloning would have higher chances of success.

Not that it mattered. They had no lead on who was behind Cadmus and since Dr. Desmond, the man in charge of Project Kr, had gone all mutant on Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter and Red Tornado they would get no answers from him. None of the League members doubted that drawing out attention from a captive was hard, but when the doctor had mutated himself to the extent that he could barely talk, it became a bit too complicated.

So far, an antidote for Dr. Desmond could not be found. Whatever he had consumed was not in the Cadmus database and Batman had therefore theorised that Desmond's mutation had been a private project. A very unusual way of spending ones free time according to the Flash and Superman had to say he fully agreed.

Silently, the Man of Steel let his fingers brush away the report, and then his sky blue eyes landed on the big pile of documents underneath. It was the recipe, if they could call it that. All steps to recreate the cloning process lay there. Clark had taken it without Bruce's permission, without even asking. Because, as he had said, his mind had started to wander when they looked it over in the Batcave.

What if… he could recreate it? With his and Lois' DNA… He could do it in the Fortress of Solitude. He had the instructions of how to do it, getting his girlfriend's DNA would be no problem, and in his secret citadel he had (from what he could tell after reading through it) the recourses needed to make it possible.

Clark shook his head, inwardly scolding himself for thinking like this. After all, if producing fake money was considered a serious crime, creating a clone could impossibly be seen as something better.

And Superman did not commit crimes. Not even if it meant… finally having what both he and Lois had craved for ages.

But then again, could making a baby untraditionally be categorised as a crime?

"Clark? Hey, you in here?"

Said dark haired woman stepped into the kitchen just as Clark raised his gaze. She swayed a bit unsteadily as she removed her high-heeled shoes, before putting them away swiftly. She then stalked over to him, placed her behind on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He smiled slightly when he felt her press her lips to his temple, her arms tightening their grip. "It's late," she mumbled against his skin. "I mean, the city is fine for the time being so you should be sleeping around now."

The Man of Steel remained quiet, not sure if he was going to tell her how he had spent his free day as Clark Kent. If she knew, would she think the same? Would she want a child that was cloned from their DNA? The more Superman thought of it the more it reminded him of in-vitro fertilization. Far from the same, yet held familiar principles. It would, mainly, be a baby conceived outside a womb, but… unlike normal test-tube babies, this baby would actually lay in a test-tube through the whole process.

Apparently, Cadmus had predicted it would take about sixteen weeks to fully make a clone of him with an outlook of a teen. But their experimenting had, as Batman had mentioned, been a bit too unstable due to only having his DNA. Also, he had calculated himself that if wanting to fully succeed then rushing the process would not do. It would only make the whole ordeal even more unstable.

Lois stroking his arm pulled him out of his thoughts. He realised she was looking at him with a frown on her face, eyes confused and lipstick-red lips pursing. "Clark Kent, what's wrong?" she asked with the kind of serious voice every woman used toward men when they were most concerned.

Briefly, Clark wondered if he should fake a smile, but decided against it. Lois would be able to tell. She always did. So instead of answering her question, he held up the documents and his eyes were emotionless when he whispered: "Read through this and tell me about the first thought that comes into your mind."

Because if Lois had the same thought, then he would do it. His wish for a family of his own was too intense to ignore. Too treasured to push away. And if no one could be perfect, then doing this was what Superman wanted on his list of mistakes rather than never even have tried.

**-o-**

Lois bit her lip as her delicate fingers placed themselves over the cold glass of the pod. A part of her was frightened of what they had decided to do. It was common sense, it was common in religions, in stories all over, that one should never mess with nature, never go overboard with science, never unleash something one couldn't control. But this was different. It_ had_ to be different.

A part of her mind wanted to regret that she had asked Clark to do this, because there were children out there who could use a good mother, but… but she wanted one with him so desperately. Because he was Superman, because he was Kal-El of Krypton, she sometimes felt that there would always be this wall between them that kept them apart, even when they were together. Yes, it sounded illogical, _dumb_ even, that she felt such, but it was true. She couldn't deny her feelings.

Nevertheless, despite how stupid it was, Lois felt a child would connect them. It would bring them together in ways nothing ever could. Maybe it was being naïve, but she would rather be naïve than overly cautious at this moment. For Lois this was the most important choice she had done since deciding to be with Clark; they could have a baby together. Made from both their DNA.

The reporter turned, just in time as Superman stepped inside the lab. He walked up to her, a soft smile playing his lips as she wrapped her arms around him from the side. There she buried her face against his big chest, her eyes closing tightly. She felt so happy; so _very_ happy.

"You ready to do this?" Clark asked her, his hand absently playing with her dark hair.

"I was born ready, Smallville."

If she had possessed the right knowledge when it came to what her boyfriend was currently doing, Lois would, of course, have helped with the process ahead. Instead, she quickly realised that she was more in the way rather than helping. She watched interested every evening, every time a day, when she was in the fortress. Unfortunately, that was not as often as she would have liked.

Since they had planned this Clark Kent had been able to – thanks to Lois' help mind you – convince Perry that he had to take a medical leave for about six months. It had been difficult to get the false documents required from a qualified doctor to leave work for so long, but they had managed. Now, Clark used every free time he had, meaning all time when he wasn't Superman. Each moment Lois was able to get some own free time where she could be transported to the fortress, her lover's work showed process results.

It had only taken sixteen weeks and already the rather disgusting glob she had seen in the pod the last time she left had turned into a normal shape for a human baby. They had decided for a boy, because unlike if Lois had been pregnant they could actually choose the gender. It was actually quite simple. Since it was cloning it mattered a lot how much DNA each of the donors gave. They had decided to use Clark's the most, hence it naturally became more of a boy rather than a girl and with the right input of hormones it was no question of which gender the baby was.

Lois stepped up against the glass, now 112 days after their baby had started growing. Her eyes were looking at the boy they were creating so intensely, before she felt them become wet and glossy. Inside that pod was their baby. _Their_ baby. Made of both their DNA, and he was beautiful. Well, maybe not to the outside world yet, but to her he was amazing.

He was little there he floated, small wires injected into his tiny blood vessels, and curled up like a ball. Lois already felt the urge to stretch out and hold him for the first time. Feel his tiny hand fold around her own index finger. But he wasn't ready yet and she knew that. Their little boy needed time. Unlike Cadmus she and Clark had no intentions of hurry up the process. The baby needed time; it would assure his survival.

"He's going to grow bigger," Clark said when she felt him wrap his strong arms around her shoulders. He kissed her neck and she smiled, tears pouring softly down her cheek. He wiped them away from his current position as they admired the small being within the pod. So fragile, yet so strong in a different way. Superman took his girlfriend's hand and guided it so her finger was pointing at the small boy's face. "If you see closely, his mouth and eyes twitches."

Lois smiled and squeezed his arms. Naturally, that felt feather light for someone like Superman, but it was reassuring nonetheless. Clark continued to kiss her neck softly, lovingly. Looking at their baby made everything so much meaningful; what they had and what they would have.

Sure enough, they both had this fear lurking inside of them, because what Superman was working so hard to achieve for them both, it was risky. It was unstable and could end with the same kind of sorrow any parent felt when losing a child. But the chances of losing this baby were automatically higher than it generally was for many. This baby was being _created_, thus it was understandable how they both felt concern. If this failed they would probably not have the spirit to restart.

This was their only chance and Clark knew that was what drove him forward. He had lied to his friends, he had lied to the League and he had definitely not told his own parents of what kind of miracle he was creating. True enough, his colleagues (Batman in particular) had noticed he was not as focused as he tended to be. Superman knew well enough that was dangerous in their field of work, but he had managed.

And managing was all he could do at the moment. At least until they had their son with them, breathing and acting like a completely ordinary baby.

"What are we going to name him?" Lois whispered.

"I've been thinking a lot of it, actually," Clark said to that as he smiled softly. "Why not give him two names?"

"Two?" she repeated, seemingly confused for a couple of seconds, before her brain caught up. Oh, her boyfriend was not from earth. He was a Kryptonian. Of course she understood he would want a Kryptonian name for his son as well. Why hadn't she ever considered that? Then again, she hadn't considered a lot lately. Her mind had been too occupied. "I want to name him Conner," Lois whispered. "It reminds me a bit of your name, but different. Because although he's a clone I want him to be… different from you, but at the same time bit like you. Does that make sense?"

"It makes a lot of sense for a mother to think like that and Conner sounds perfect," responded Clark as he nuzzled her temple. "Does that mean you think it's all right for him to have a Kryptonian name too?"

Lois frowned. "Of course, stupid. Why would you ever think I didn't want that for him? It's your heritage and we should pass it on to him. He should know he's part earthling and part Kryptonian. He should know everything; no secrets." Then she smiled affectionately. "Give him a good name, Clark. Give him a Kryptonian name."

"Kon-El of Krypton," whispered Clark and closed his eyes. Yeah, that sounded absolutely perfect.

Another sixteen weeks passed them quickly. Lois, as the stubborn and headstrong reporter she was, realised quickly that her mind often travelled astray these weeks. She would write down possible names in her notepad (just in case she found something she liked more than Conner) and her head was a completely different place most of the time. Perry was frustrated by her lack of focus, but usually felt better when he pulled herself together. It always returned to the same unfocused Lois though, much to Perry's big dismay.

Said editor-in-chief was even more frustrated when she too had to take a medical leave, though of course when she revealed she was pregnant he just had to congratulate her. Needless to say, this was a lie. She had simply put on a "false-stomach", which made it look like she had gained more weight. Lois had also asked Perry to keep it a secret, which he had agreed to.

Now, everyone would believe she had been secretly pregnant with Clark's child, and did not dare to tell anyone else but Perry when they first showed up with their baby. She could imagine Jimmy would be rather hurt for not getting to know this beforehand, but it would just have to be this way.

A part of Lois was a bit peeved that she wouldn't be working for a while, but as absent as her mind had been lately she doubted her job had been all that good either way. She would have to settle with getting a vacation.

As the time for when their baby would be finished developing came closer, Superman also became too absentminded. Batman had downright snarled at him that he had to get himself together on the three latest missions the League had received and truthfully Clark could not blame him. He knew he was not with his teammates at the moment. The Kryptonian was most aware that right now his own developing family at home was what mattered. He felt bad, but it was a fact he could not deny.

Then the day had come. Superman had excused himself from League duties, knowing that as soon as he left the Watchtower that his colleagues would once against discuss his far-away mind. It was okay though, because as soon as he and Lois had their baby settled into their lives, then he knew things would be different. He would come back, one hundred percent, because he would feel more reassured. He would know that everything had gone as planned and that he could start a family outside of his Superman persona.

He arrived at the fortress with Lois in his arms. For two extra days, where they had been more anxious than ever remembering being, Superman had analysed how their developing son was coping, before he dared to say that the cloning process was done. But today, he had concluded it was time. He felt Lois' nervousness and frankly he felt the exact the same kind of bubbling expectations and fear.

As she stepped up in front of the pod, Superman made his way to one of the many keyboards connected to the clone's tube. For a moment he inhaled, exhaled and then he let his finger push the button.

The one that would release their son.

The one that would free him and let him see the world for the first time.

Inside the pod, the iron floor of it was pushed up so that their son now lay on top of something instead of floating in the greenish liquid. Lois bit her lip; she saw the wires slowly loosen from the baby's small hands, and then the liquid slowly started to disappear as it got sucked out by the same tubes that had refreshed it during their son's developing. Her heartbeat felt like it was increasing for each second that passed.

The glass that had shielded him from them rose and Superman made his way over to her side, his feet feeling unusually wobbly. There they both stood still and for only a moment, both tried to comprehend what they had spent their last twenty four weeks doing.

And then a loud, shrill cry was heard throughout the fortress.

Conner Kent, Kon-El of Krypton, was born.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Note: <strong>So, I suppose that this is uncanonly!Superman, since he seems really afraid to have a son at all, but I believe that if the circumstance had been different Superman also would have acted different. In this universe of mine I have combined our beloved Young Justice series with the movie All-Star Superman. I thought that movie was good enough and since I liked Lois Lane's design in that movie and the concept of them wishing to have children but knowing it's impossible I got inspired._

_Well, at least Superboy will have a very different childhood in this universe xD He'll still be a silent kid though, but not as angry ;P So next chapter the League will get to know and we'll have some Superboy and Superman father/son interactions!_


	6. Part 6: Baby Mine

**Child's Mind**

**Part: VI**

* * *

><p>"<em>From your head down to your toes,<br>You're not much, goodness knows.  
>But you're so precious to me,<br>Sweet as can be,  
>Baby of mine.<em>"

~ Alison Krauss (Baby Mine from Disney's Dumbo)

**-o-**

The Watchtower, 1995

Selfishness; it was always referred to as something wrong, something _terrible. _Or, at least in most cases. And this time, Superman was most aware that he and Lois had been selfish. What they had done had not been thought over, at least not _enough_. Superman knew he should have weighted and considered every consequence. Yes, he _knew_, and yet he couldn't find it in his heart, which was so filled with joy and anticipation, to regret anything.

It had been three months since they gotten their son and though it had been hard and quite a transition from their previous lives, it was all worth it. Becoming a father was difficult to say the least. All from waking up in the middle of the night to either feed him, change his diapers or simply try to coo him back to sleep.

But the moment Conner's strong, small hands locked around his finger Clark knew that he wouldn't want his life any other way. Hence, he had allowed himself to be selfish. True enough, he would try his best for that to never become a frequent thing, what he had done could not be changed and if it could have been, then Superman wouldn't have liked it to be. Right now, everything was perfect.

Well, everything except his current relationship with his colleagues.

The Man of Steel knew that when he entered the Watchtower that day, the other Leaguers would confront him. Not only had he been absent in mind, but recently he'd been absent from their missions as well. Needles to say, this did not go well with the Batman, nor most of the others, really, but they tended to be more worried than angry.

With maybe the exception of Hawkman and Hawkwoman.

Therefore, he was not surprised when the first thing that met him was Batman's stern face.

"We need to talk," the Caped Crusader said with the kind of tone that meant arguing would be useless. Not that Superman had any plans of doing so.

Nodding, Clark followed Bruce into their monitor room, where the other Leaguers were waiting for him. He had not expected anything less. No matter how much Batman liked to be the one in control, the Dark Knight was fair and he knew that this was a matter that everyone had to discuss.

Silently, Superman wondered what they would say. How would they react? That was something he hadn't dared to think of, mostly because he was not certain he would like the answer of his question. Then again, he wouldn't keep this from them. Considering who his colleagues were, they would find out somehow. Bruce before any of the others, he was sure, and it was better he told them personally than they, by accident, finding out.

No one said anything as he sat down in his chair; some seemed a bit surprised (probably due to his completely neutral expression), while others looked irritated and then you had Batman, who did not commonly show much emotion, and yet one could just tell he was, bluntly said, pissed off.

"Superman, we have something we need to discuss with you," Wonder Woman started, her arms crossed as she looked seriously at the Kryptonian. She exchanged looks with Green Arrow and Zatara who were sitting beside her, before her eyes landed on him once more. "We all have noticed that something is troubling you, and keeps you unfocused during our missions. This has never happened before and honestly we were hoping it was just something that would last temporarily. But now it has been going for a bit too long; we want to know what's wrong."

"In other words, you tell us what's bothering you and we help, whether you like it or not," Flash said, as he leaned against the computer behind himself.

Superman didn't reply at first, due to the simple fact that he was contemplating exactly _how_ he should deliver the news. It took about a minute of silence and intense stares from his colleagues before he decided upon the most blunt approach. A bit out of the ordinary for him, maybe, but when one couldn't find good ways to formulate details, then doing it straight on was better than spluttering out nonsense.

"I have a son."

Seeing their shocked expressions overtaking worry and anger was sort of… satisfactory and yet made him, yes, the Man of Steel, somewhat nervous. He was not surprised when Flash was the first one to speak.

"A _son_?" the Scarlet Speedster repeated.

"Your Kryptonian biology should make it impossible to impregnate any female," J'onn spoke up; he was frowning lightly, red eyes showing confusion, yet thoughtfulness.

Upon hearing this Batman seemed to already have concluded what had happened, or at least seem to have a theory. All this Superman gathered by just turning his sky blue eyes toward Bruce, whose lips pursed and his white eyes narrowed. Then he approached Clark, arms crossed and his look deadly even from behind the cowl.

"You stole my documents," the Dark Knight snarled.

To be honest, Superman had expected something... different. Like, Bruce not being furious due to the fact that he had taken something from him without permission. After all, Barry did that all the time.

"Yes, I did," confirmed Clark, without batting as much as an eyelash.

And here he thought Bruce could not become even scarier; he was wrong. The Dark Knight's dark aura was now surrounding the whole room and even though Clark knew he was practically indestructible, the fact that Batman possessed kryptonite in that utility belt of his may not be a very good thing.

"How, in your right mind, did you decide that something so ignorant and downright foolish was a good idea, Clark?" Bruce seethed. "Firstly, you didn't even know if you would be able to complete the experiment, nor if it would be any success. You also knew of the possibility that you lacked some knowledge necessary for it to even be able to work. For not to mention that cloning has not been taken as something positively legal."

"Cloning?" echoed through the room, complete with wide eyes and shocked expressions.

Superman and Batman just glared at one another, but in the end Clark turned his head and sighed. "I knew what I did was… relatively speaking, not _right_."

"Then _why_?"

"Because, Bruce, I wanted a child with Lois and the only chance of it ever happening was to take a different route than a normal pregnancy. I saw a possibility that I may never get again and I took it."

"And it worked?" Aquaman asked as he raised an eyebrow at the Man of Steel.

"Yes, it worked. My son is a product of Lois and I, mostly me, but has enough of her DNA to be considered ours."

Hearing this Flash whistled. "You actually _made_ a Kryptonian."

"Considering his mother is perfectly human, he is part earthling. It's a lesser percent than Kryptonian but that percent alone may be enough to not give him any superpowers. And whether he gets it or not, doesn't really matter to Lois and I. We just wanted a child and we got one. We're happy."

Wonder Woman sighed. "So, I suppose this was the reason for your unfocused period?"

Superman nodded to that, before the room became completely silent once again. No one really knew what to say and though Batman tended to always have something to utter – mostly in a negative way mind you – even he seemed to be empty. Because, what could they say?

That it was foolish? Yes, Superman knew. He was most aware that the thought and actions in themselves had been a bad idea and far from following the criteria a hero should be bound to. But he had done it out of love, out of a need to cherish and take care of something. On many areas, his actions were understandable. He was the only Kryptonian on earth, the only Kryptonian in the universe as far as he knew, and having a child that held a big part of the Kryptonian culture meant a lot to him.

Many would argue that his son, that Kon-El, was not of Krypton, but to him, to Superman, he was. He was a living product of a Kryptonian and a human, meaning he had enough Kryptonian blood to be considered as such. And Superman would teach him about everything he needed, everything he, himself, knew. What difference did it really make that he was created? To him and Lois, Conner was their son. Their _real_ son.

"Can we trust you to stay focused from this day on?" Batman finally breathed as he turned away from Clark.

"Of course."

"I mean it, Clark, having a distracted Kryptonian in the League will not do us any good."

Superman stood up and turned, the sound of his cape the only thing being heard in the room. He glanced over his shoulder and his eyes met Batman's. All emotions he currently possessed could be found in the debts of those sky blue orbs. They showed determination; something Batman hadn't seen for a long, long time. "I'm back," was all Superman said, before exiting the room.

It took all day, before Superman could return as Clark Kent back to his own apartment.

Lois was fast asleep. For a moment, Clark stopped and smiled softly, comforted by the way her chest rose and fell in a calm, heavy manner. Seeing her breathe, seeing her snuggle close to the pillow she had trapped in a death-grip – it gave him the kind of relaxed feeling that he was not given as often as he wanted to. It was a big reassurance that she was still here, alive, and happy.

Softly, he stroked his hand through her black hair, before bowing down to kiss her temple. Then he swiftly headed to the room beside their own. It was blue painted, small, but with room enough to contain a cradle, a changing table as well as two shelves filled with toys and other baby equipment.

Superman stopped by the cradle, his sky-blue eyes landing on the baby boy currently sleeping soundlessly. Conner was a healthy looking baby, weighting only just below what was normal (for a Kryptonian child) and with no usual complications along the way. He was already starting to develop some raven black hair, and his eyes were blue. Sky blue. Lois had already declared her undying love for them, much to Clark's silent amusement.

As if a cue, his son's eyes flew open, small whimpers escaping him lightly. Clark sighed, and bowed down. He took the baby into his arms, let him rest his cheek against his muscular, strong chest as he rocked him slowly. He kissed Conner's temple, and the whimpers subsided.

Clark felt a tight hold on his index finger and he first now, in his silent, exhausted daze, realised that Conner's hand wad wrapped around his own index finger. He let the young boy squeeze it in his sleep, knowing it was, undoubtedly, comforting to hold onto him like this. Because if he, himself, found it soothing to hold Conner, he could only imagine he was doing the same to his son.

No matter how young he was, Clark could only assume even babies could feel safety.

As Conner fell asleep against his father, Clark kissed the boy's forehead softly before he tenderly whispered: "Good night, Kon-El."

That night he let the boy sleep on his chest, their position not changed even when Lois woke up to see her husband by her side, but with their baby on his chest. It warmed her heart and as she too leaned over, kissing them both, she realised that no matter what anyone else would say – she could feel no regret.

No regret at all.

* * *

><p><strong>-o-<strong>

Metropolis, 2000

Conner pulled his legs up to his chest, his eyes looking silently ahead. The swing was not moving all that much, just swayed lightly in the wind. He stared as the other kids played soccer, one by one kicking the ball across the court made of gravel, quite a contrast to the rest of the green park. He would often go here to watch, but never join.

Not because he wasn't good. But because he was _too good_.

The young boy tightened his grip on the swing's rope, knowing that if he did so for too long it would snap, but he allowed his body to express his emotions for a couple of moments. Then, he loosened his hold and kicked his legs lightly. It was enough to make it take a good leap into the air.

He did everything lightly; _everything_. Because his daddy had told him countless of times how important it was to keep his powers at bay. If he didn't, something bad could happen. Someone could get hurt, or better yet – someone could find out whom he was. True enough, the public did not know Superman had a son, but it would not be hard to guess whom he belonged to if something should occur.

Often, Conner had wanted to play with the other kids. Often, he'd wanted to walk up and ask if he could come along too. Not because he wanted to show off, not because he thought his powers were superior and therefore made him want to exhibit them. No, it was because not playing such games didn't leave him with a lot of friends. Only a few of the kids talked to him in general, really.

Superman's son… He was Superman's son. The hero who had gotten his own statue here, in this very park. The golden boy of Metropolis, the man almost every kid admired in his home city and yet, Conner could not show his pride of being the Boy Scout's son, because, he had to hide whom he truly was. Just like he had to keep his superpowers hidden from the world.

For a four-year-old (soon five), sometimes understanding why there was so much he couldn't tell was hard, but it just had to be so. He always listened to his daddy and his mommy; no questions asked. Sure enough, he was like any other child. Conner could sometimes act selfishly, just like kids his age did and he could disobey, but the seriousness of keeping their second lives a secret he got.

Though he was acting like a normal soon-five-year-old most of the time, he was also a _smart_ soon-five-year-old. Conner could easily tell when something being hidden was crucial or just hurtful if ever revealed. There were, without a doubt, big differences when it came to secrets. Some could be told and things would be okay in the end, whilst if others got told, everything would change.

Despite knowing though, Conner could sometimes feel so angry and frustrated. He wanted to be able to play – like the others. To be proud of his daddy – like the others. Why couldn't he have that? Why couldn't he… just turn _off_ these powers? It wouldn't change the fact that his identity as Superman's son had to be shield away, but it would help him play with the other kids at Little Lamb Preschool.

Conner shrugged his shoulders lightly, before skilfully jumping off the swing. His daddy had taught him briefly how to vary pressure underneath his feet, hence he did not create massive holes when he jumped. He still had to focus greatly for not to do it though, so he tried to jump as little as possible overall.

Suddenly, a white and black ball bounced in front of his vision. Purely on instinct he caught it in his hands, before looking up. Some of the kids were waving at him, jumping slightly up and down as if to signalise that he should throw it back. Conner's first thought was to do so, but he hesitated slightly. His daddy said to always go and give things; never throw, never kick.

But… this was just a ball. He could control his strength enough prevent it from going all that far. All he had to do was concentrate.

So Conner did; he thought over everything his daddy had taught him, focused, and then he kicked. Briefly, his young heart leaped nervously, because it looked, for a moment, like it was going to soar much farther than first expected. However, he felt relieved when it landed just a metre behind the kids' backs. Quickly, they glanced at the ball, before looking back at him.

They seemed amazed.

Blushing, Conner looked away. He didn't like so much attention…

"Hey, you wanna play with us?" a voice suddenly asked him, which, also, gave him quite a startle. Big, blue orbs turned to look at the source of the voice, wide with surprise. It was a blond haired boy with blue eyes and curly locks. Then he, a bit slowly, nodded his head and followed the other kid toward the court.

The other children greeted him in various ways; most of them seemed impressed with his kick of the ball, while there were two in particular who looked sceptically at him. He was used to those kind of boys in preschool and therefore he was not all that worried by their gazes. In fact, he sent them a sceptical stare straight back, which in turn made their own staring faltering a little.

"So, whatcha name? You kick _good_!" the blond kid asked.

"Conner," he answered with a shy smile. "And, thanks."

"Enough talking! Kick the ball!" urged one of the other kids. It was a girl with brown coloured hair, drawn back in a ponytail; she snapped away the ball and proceeded by running toward the goal in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Holly, that is _cheating_!" pouted the blond haired boy as he followed her.

Another girl, with bright red hair and big freckles, pushed Conner lightly in the shoulder and said: "You're with me, Benny-" she pointed at the blond boy with the curls. "And Greg," she continued and this time pointed to a brown haired boy with big glasses. They reminded Conner of the ones he was currently using, though his were smaller.

It was fun. _Really_ fun. Conner couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed himself like this. True enough, gaining control over his strength was very hard, but with enough concentration it seemed he was being quite decent when it came to playing soccer.

Unfortunately, his luck ended when Benny the blond served him a perfect ball. He really hadn't intended to kick it as hard as he had, but for a moment having control of his super strength had withered. That moment alone was enough for the ball to be kicked so hard that it tore the ropes in the goal.

Conner froze, his whole body becoming cold as the other kids gaped at him. He felt the dread squirm and turn inside of his stomach, his lip quivering and his heart beating so fast that he briefly believed it would come straight out of his chest. No… Daddy was going to become _so angry_. And Mommy would be so _disappointed_. He had _promised _to be careful and looked what he'd done.

He'd blown their cover…

Quickly he turned before any of the other kids could react. He ran. Away from the park, away from the kids, away from his mistake.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but Conner suppressed them. He didn't like crying, not even when his dad told him that crying was okay. Not because it didn't feel good afterwards, but because he felt weak when they actually spilled. And Kon-El didn't like feeling vulnerable. Not in the least.

Aimlessly he ran, not even once considering where he was going. Then, in a blink of an eye, he was no longer on the ground. He was in the air, arms holding him tight and his face pressed against a chest. It was his dad.

Superman lowered not long after, settled on a roof with Conner still pressing himself against him. The Man of Steel sighed out and rubbed his son's back. The young boy still refused to look at him, much to his silent dismay. "Conner," he said, his voice seriously, yet tender. The child only pressed himself closer into his father's embrace. "I know what happened, and I'm not mad at you. I understand that you wanted to play with the other kids, but… you also know why you can't."

It was unfair. Horribly unfair, even Superman knew that. Shielding a child away from potential playmates was cruel, but unfortunately earth was so toward Kryptonians sometimes. If they wanted to be able to live outside of being superheroes maintaining their secret identities was crucial.

Handling situations like these as a parent was hard, because truly, one couldn't really blame Conner for what he'd done. Clark was proud of having a son like him; because Conner was understanding and he was, relatively good at doing what he was told, as long as he knew the seriousness of the matter.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Conner whispered. "I'm sorry."

Clark detected a slight wetness on his costume and knew instantly that his son was crying. That was never something the Man of Steel liked to witness, so he hugged the boy tighter, his lips brushing Conner's forehead silently. "It's okay, Conner, shhh," he soothed. "Just promise me to be more careful."

He received a nod and sat down as Conner cried against his chest. Undoubtedly, this was not just about his failure when it came to controlling his powers; it was letting out the frustrations of being so different, of being so lonely. But being from another world, stranded on another planet, meant feeling lonesome. Clark had been there, had experienced it. It was comforting to know, though, that it would get better one day. With time. And Earth could at least be called Conner's home; his birthplace, which was more than what Superman could call it.

After a couple of minutes, Conner's shoulders were no longer slightly quivering. Instead, he was only hugging his father for the sake of comfort; the kind of comfort Superman was more than willing to give. However, it was getting late and Lois would not like it if she got to know he had failed to put their son to bed to the expected time.

Clark drew his strong hand through Conner's black hair, ruffled it so a slight smile appeared on the young boy's face. Then he helped him correct his glasses, which of course were not needed but used to hide him if the boy should ever wish to become like him. As much as his son seemed to admire Superman, Clark had no doubt that would happen. He would handle that request when the time came. As of now, it was out of the question and Conner was smart enough to know that himself.

"You hungry?" Superman asked softly, as he started changing into Clark Kent wear.

The young Kryptonian watched his father get rid of the Superman suit and instantly lit up when hearing this. He nodded his head and once Clark Kent had put his glasses on, Conner grabbed his hand and tugged lightly on it. A soft chuckle escaped the famous Boy Scout as he let his son pull him away.

They found a stand, which was selling hot-dogs. Clark knew Lois would scold him for giving that to Conner (just like his Ma always complained they didn't give the kid enough healthy nutrition whenever they visited his parents in Smallville), but right there and then he didn't care. This was a father and son thing, so they just had to accept it. Clark knew his own Pa understood.

A bench was placed not far from the stand and there Clark sat down. He watched as Conner munched on his food, ketchup and mustard greasing all over his face. As soon as the younger brunet had consumed the hot-dog, Clark grabbed a napkin and hoisted the boy up in his arms.

"Urgh, Daddy!" complained Conner as the Kryptonian wiped his face. This only made Clark chuckle and then he ruffled his son's hair as he tended to do. This served him a light punch in the arm, but it was not meant to be harmful; it was a sign of affection.

"Hey, Daddy?" Conner said, as he wrapped his arms around his father's neck from behind. Then the boy folded his legs around said neck and rested his chin on top of Clark's head. "We're best friends, right?"

The older male responded by wrapping his hands around his son's ankles, not wanting the boy to fall backwards. True enough, his son was developing superpowers, hence he was quite indestructible, but that didn't mean he wouldn't prevent him from taking big falls. For not to mention, that if he dropped him and all he did was get up without a scratch, people would easily take notice.

"Yeah, Con, we're best friends," the Man of Steel smiled.

"I'm sorry I was… bad," Conner then mumbled against his father's hair. Apparently, the incident later today was not forgotten by the young Kryptonian. Clark was about to dismiss it when his boy continued. "We should practice more. So I can be just as good as you are with my powers."

Clark sighed and glanced up at Conner whose cheek was now what rested on his head. The boy was looking to the right, his eyes somewhat drowsy. "When I was your age, I had the same problem, Conner. Though you practice it will still be hard to control because your body is still so new. But I promise that when you get bigger your control will become bigger as well."

The four-year-old's response was a pout. Becoming bigger would take a lot of time; and that meant he would have to be alone, without any best friend and hardly any friends at all, for a long, long time. Just thinking about it made him want to cry, because feeling alone was so horrible. He didn't like it and though he had his dad and his mom, they weren't enough. They couldn't play with him all the ways he wanted to.

Sensing his son's distress, Clark bit his lip, before he subtly said: "You know, some of my colleagues have children your age," he said quietly, as he avoided going into a too crowded street. "Aquaman just took in a boy about the same age as you, Green Arrow and Black Canary have a girl one year younger and a boy a year older. If you want… maybe we can arrange something, so that you can meet them and be… well, your Kryptonian self."

Hearing this caused Conner's eyes to widen. Quickly he squirmed, which indicated for Clark to put his son down. Once done, the four-year-old wrapped his arms around his father's legs, his big blue eyes looking up at the Man of Steel with so much hope and excitement. "You mean it? I can show them my super strength and they will know you're my daddy? And they'll play with me? Really?"

Smiling gently, Superman crouched down to the younger brunet's eyelevel. There he put both his hands on Conner's shoulders, their eyes looking into one another. "I said I will try, all right? I cannot promise anything, but I will do my best. You see, I'm not the only one who's a bit protective of my son." At this Clark winked and Conner grinned widely.

Other superkids… that would be _awesome_.

Filled with hope and excitement, Conner skipped ahead. He had both arms drawn out from his body as he moved toward their apartment home; he pretended he was an airplane. As his son made flying sounds, Clark rolled his eyes affectionately. Someday, Conner would fly for real and then he wouldn't have to pretend.

But for now…

Clark dove in and snapped Conner up his arms, hoisting him over his shoulder as the kid laughed loud and clear, while shrieking in happiness.

… For now, he liked having his son on the ground, with him – in his arms.

* * *

><p><strong>-o-<strong>

"What's that, Daddy?" Conner tilted his head to the side, eyes trying hard to see what his father was currently holding behind his back. He clawed on Clark's pant-legs, bouncing lightly, but yet his dad did not show it. Naturally, this made him pout and he glared slightly up, not pleased at all that his beloved father was holding something hidden from him. He had promised they would tell each other _everything_.

Clark smiled; it was one of those teasing ones, which always made Conner rather irritated, because he didn't like being teased. Especially not by someone he admired as much as his own dad. But he knew there was no change in Clark's love for him. The older Kryptonian just liked to tease him once in a while.

However, it turned out his daddy hadn't planned to keep it hidden from him for along. A delighted grin spread over Conner's lips when Clark pulled a red wrapped gift from behind his back; it was square formed with the superman-logo formed into the dim-red wrapping, complete with a dark blue ribbon like his father's costume.

Just when Conner had eagerly accepted the gift, Lois stuck her head out from the bathroom, her wet hair folded inside a towel. She blinked as her son speeded past her and jumped into the couch, almost breaking it, which in turn made his mother sigh. How many times had she told him that running and then jumping on furniture was a big no-no? Answer: too many, _way_ too many.

She pursed her lips and turned to Clark, an eyebrow raised as she crossed her arms; she was only wearing a towel around her fair skinned body. "You mind telling me what's going on here, Smallville?" she asked him.

He leaned over and served her a quick peck on the lips. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he chose to answer. Never beat around the bush when it came to Lois Lane; _never_. "I know he feels a bit… lonely, so I fixed him a friend."

"Please tell me it's not a Krypto puppy," Lois said, smirking slightly.

"Not quite…"

There was a pause, before a cheer was heard throughout their apartment.

"It's a _teddy_!" exclaimed Conner as both his parents entered the living room. His small hands were hugging it tightly to his chest, oblivious to the fact that any normal teddy would have crumbled underneath his strong hold. This teddy didn't though; it was perfectly fine and soft although he was hugging it as tightly as possible.

It was a brown one, with a black t-shirt that held a red Superman logo. In the box, there had also been a similar t-shirt, but, naturally, made for a human and not a bear. Conner looked ecstatic as he jumped into Clark's arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he said, grin wide and the teddy held tight in his right hand. Then he looked at the bear and held it up for his mother and father to see. "Why doesn't it break?"

"Because, it's special made for you," Superman told, his smile gentle as he ruffled his son's dark locks. "This bear will never break; J'onn and I made it especially for you, with some help from Batman. And, no one will ever have a similar bear. It's yours and only yours, so wherever you go there will be no Superman merchandise that looks like your bear. There's only one in the whole galaxy."

His father saying so made Conner feel warm inside. He squeezed the bear tight, overjoyed that he didn't have to be careful with it, because it wouldn't break. It was like him; this bear was like him and his daddy – sort of. It was indestructible! Of course, that didn't mean Conner would not take good care of it. He would do his best to make sure his bear was safe and sound.

"Well, what do you know, sweetie," Lois said with a fond, lop-sided smile. "Looks like you got yourself your own Superbear, hm, _Superboy_?"

_Superboy… Superbear_… the young clone thought, his face expressing utter joy. It may wasn't any original names, but for Conner they were absolutely _perfect_. He glanced up at his father. "Hey, Dad? Can I be Supeboy? Can I?" he asked, smiling brightly up at the older Kryptonian.

Lois also turned to look at Clark; she seemed interested for what his answer would be to that. She doubted he would let Conner go out on missions with him since he was just a four-year-old, but it still perked her interest.

The Man of Steel looked into his son's eyes. "One day, Conner. I promise. Not now, but I think that soon you will not have to be so lonely anymore. Sure enough, you have Superbear now, but I'm arranging something with the Justice League."

"Will I get to play with the others?" Conner enquired.

"Yes, someday in the future," assured Superman.

And Superboy hugged his super dad tightly and without any thought of having control. If it had been his mother he would have been forced to restrain his strength, but not now. He just nuzzled his nose against his daddy's neck, happy, content – _pleased_. And so was Superbear – _happy_.


	7. Part 7: With Arms Wide Open

**Child's Mind**

**Part: VII**

* * *

><p><strong>-o-<strong>

_With arms wide open__  
><em>_Under the sunlight __  
><em>_Welcome to this place __  
><em>_I'll show you everything..._

~ Creed (With Arms Wide Open, lyrics)

**-o-**

San Barnardio National Forest, 1998

Oliver Queen could not fathom why he had agreed to do this and at this moment it seemed that Bruce Wayne was having the exact same thought. The two rich men were glancing sideways at Barry Allen and Clark Kent, who looked like they were hiding their amusement by biting their lips, as if they were trying to avoid chuckling by their colleague's sceptical, grumbling expressions.

The two billionaire's had refused when Barry and Clark had mentioned that doing something – the four of them – for the weekend would be good. Oliver had more than enough to deal with, having recently moved in with his fiancé Dinah Lance – ergo: Black Canary – and dealing with some serious busy times when it came to his family business. Bruce Wayne was in the same kind of situation (minus the fiancé part, that playboy), but he probably would have been crabby either way seeing as the Batman was not keen on spending his free time with his colleagues.

Nevertheless, the Flash had managed, somehow, to convince said billionaire to join. No, probably blackmailed; just like he'd done to him. Since Barry and Oliver had known each other for quite some time now the speedster had more dirt on him that Oliver liked to admit. Hence Barry had subtly said that his tongue would might 'slip' of some interesting knowledge whilst he was in Dinah's presence. The rest was obvious. Oliver had no choice but to agree to whatever the older male had proposed.

It didn't help that he kept pointing out that Barry had resorted to something that went against everything they stood for. The speedster remained unaffected, however, which was basically the reason as to why Oliver found himself in a small Mountain City right outside of the San Barnardio National Forest.

Apparently, this weekend was going to be spent walking, hunting, fishing and sleeping in a cabin with an outhouse and no electricity. Terrific.

"Remind me _why_ I even let you guys near me?" grumbled Bruce as Barry pointed at the cabin he seemed ever so proud that they had rented.

It wasn't exactly much to brag about if Oliver had to say so himself. It was an ordinary ebony wooded cabin with a low roof where there was built a terrace, complete with five windows all in all, and a couple of short stairs leading up to the entrance. Inside, Barry had previously told there were two bedrooms with two single beds, meaning they would have to share. Bruce seemed, for once, undetermined. To him, sharing a bedroom with either seemed like a bad punishment.

"Cheer up, Bruce," Clark said, resisting the urge to push the Dark Knight lightly in the shoulder. The Kryptonian had learned the hard way that breaking into Batman's personal space was a big no-no. "It's only for two days and I think all of us agree that you spend too much time in the Batcave."

"There's a reason behind that," the Dark Knight retorted, not sparing Superman a single glance as he shoved the red painted door to the cabin open. There he glanced around, nose wrinkled somewhat in distaste. Not particularly for the cabin's outlook, but more of its rather small size. It only meant he would have more chances of getting _touched_ by his so-called "friends".

"Hey, come on," Barry said in an attempt to lighten the mood. "J'onn is keeping an eye on Gotham, John on Star City, Hal on Metropolis and Katar's in Central. I think they all agreed the four of us deserved some rest, so you should enjoy it while you can."

Of course Bruce couldn't argue with that logic, but if he would ever take the weekend off (which the Batman did not do without blackmailing speedsters being involved) he would have spent the day at the manor, drink coffee, _sleep_, read the paper, _sleep_, go out to meet the "friends" he never had time to keep in touch with, learn to cook and did he mention _sleep_? Yes, _that_ was ideal ways to spend a weekend off.

Living with the Kansas Golden Boy, the Hyperactive Blabber Mouth and the Non-Serious, Hormonal, Fail Comedian was not on his list for "Things I Want to Do Before I Die". And yes, as the Batman he had such a list.

"Okay, which one of you sleeps quietly?" Bruce questioned as he turned and sent them all a sceptical scowl. His eyes landed on Barry and he continued: "Never mind. Queen, Kent, which one of you don't snore, don't toss, don't move, don't walk (or in your case, Kent, _fly_) in your sleep and basically just barely breathes?"

The three other men exchanged looks and Oliver rolled his eyes. "I can't promise I won't make a turn once in a while, but according to Dinah I'm a quiet sleeper and I'm pretty sure she's not lying, because if I wasn't she would have punched me every night to make me shut up."

The Gothamite seemed to consider his options for a moment, before silently nodding and then headed toward one of the bedrooms, in which he stayed until hours later when Barry coaxed them out to look around. They were heading out tomorrow to start the activities, but for today they were just going to spend some time seeing the village, maybe grab a meal at the local pub if he was able to keep Bruce with them that long.

Oliver threw his gaze around as he walked, his thoughts drifting back to Dinah and the commitment he would soon make. Getting married was something only Barry and Katar of the League had done before and they seemed happy enough. Katar and Sheyera were a feisty couple, but nevertheless they had managed fine. Ergo, he and Canary should be able to do the same.

Despite the fact that he kept telling himself just that, Green Arrow was a nervous archer when it came to Black Canary. He had been able to screw up a lot, including his family business the first couple of years. He had lost everything, except his _name_, which had, somehow, been enough when he finally got his life back on track. He had rebuilt everything his parents had made, even made it better and now his life seemed perfect. Would he really risk it all over something like marriage? It could change his life – _would_ change his life.

It could either make it worse or better…

He seemed to have thought the latter when he proposed. Too bad his confidence seemed to have been shrinking ever since.

Dinah Lance… How could someone like _her_ commit herself to the likes of _him_? That was another question he kept asking himself.

"Yo, Ollie, look!" Barry suddenly said, gaining the archer's attention. The speedster's arm flung around the blonde man's shoulders as he pointed at a sign lined up by one of the local Sports Shops. "It's an archery tournament in town."

"For youths," Clark pointed out with an eye roll. "Not adults."

"I wasn't suggesting for _him_ to attend. Pft, that would be unfair to all the others."

"True, true," smirked Oliver, his problematic thoughts pushed back in his head for the time being. He pulled lightly on his blond beard, before glancing at Barry. "Shall we take a look, gentlemen?"

"If it gets mushier now I think I will see my breakfast for the second time," they heard Bruce grumbled as he passed them soundlessly. The billionaire wasn't left alone for long because soon the three other men had caught up to him and, naturally, just to be annoy him, they kept very close.

**-o-o-o-**

The four-year-old watched longingly as the older kids of the village readied their bows. Practice was in session and for each arrow that hit the targets Roy Harper found himself shrinking back, away from the court. The child found it unfair that he wasn't allowed to compete due to the fact that he was too young. What hurt the most, however, was that if he had been old enough, then he would probably not have been able to attend either way.

He was an orphan. An unwanted child, a _poor_ child. He had nothing to do in an archery tournament according to the keeper of Mister Moorland's Home for Boys, the orphanage he'd been placed in after Brave Bow had died. Roy had been lucky after being taken as a foster son by the archer known as Brave Bow by the villagers after his biological father's death, but said luck only lasted for two years.

He was alone again.

The young boy wrapped his cloak further around him and returned the hood over his head, hiding his fiery red locks. Blue eyes once again looked intently at the archers lining up to train before the competition; he felt a stronger urge to go join. Because, despite his young age, Roy both acted far more maturely than kids his age and, truthfully, he looked two years older than what he really was. Needless to say, this made him feel even more bitter and sad about the fact that he was a nothing and hence could not show his worth.

Even at the age of four he swore he could use a bow a lot better than half of those boys.

He skipped away from his hiding place within the bushes after a couple of minutes and dashed silently through the forest. Soon his eyes landed on his personal tree, which had been big enough for Brave Bow to cut a shallow hole for him to crawl inside. He had only been two years old when he had first hidden inside of there for the first time. Brave Bow had worked well with his little cave.

Roy ate the bread he'd gotten as a lunch from the orphanage as he thoughtfully looked around. There wasn't a lot of space but enough for him to lean his head back and look up inside of the shallow three. Somehow, this old tree had been practically completely shallow with the exception of some part of the bottom where Brave Bow had made the opening.

God, Roy missed him… And yet, as a young child his memory was already starting to wither about him. He had only been two; his memories were fading, but the most important remained. Or, at least Roy hoped it would.

It wasn't before he heard the start signal of the archery tournament that Roy ventured through the forest once more. He returned to the bush where he'd formerly hid and then peeked through the thin branches within to watch the archers compete. Once again he felt an urge to show what _he_ could do.

This urge kept growing as he watched and this caused his hand to search slowly after his own bow and quiver. He had placed them underneath the bush to hide them away from anyone who would come searching for him. The orphanage's keepers didn't like any of the children playing with what they considered 'dangerous' and had confiscated Roy's bow and arrow the moment Brave Bow died.

To them it was unbelievable that a grown up man had even considered making such a weapon for a two-year-old. To Roy, however, it had been unbearable to part with his beloved bow and arrows. He had therefore located where it had been stored quite quickly and stolen it. Since he had found them in the attic of the orphanage it had yet to be discovered that they were gone.

The keepers didn't go up there very often.

Roy heard them read up the people who had proceeded to the next round and ten minutes later a shorter line consisting of nine boys and seven girls had replaced the long one of a much larger number. Roy felt his grip tighten when he saw their target; it was many metres away from where they stood lined up and, above all, the target was mechanic so it would shift in a new direction every time.

Or, at least that was what it would seem like. In truth there was a pattern. One just had to find one.

Roy, however, was just a natural. He wasn't old enough yet to follow the pattern. Instead, he just narrowed his eyes as he readied his bow. Considering that the bush was located father away from the line of youths, the chance of Roy being able to hit the target was therefore slimmer. Nevertheless, the boy readied his bow, bit his lip and focused.

He was so young, yet so talented. Brave Bow had been beyond impressed by the two-year-old's interest in the bow. The boy still spoke like a little baby that time and yet his mind was that of an excellent archer. Since the redhead had been so small (too small to hold a real bow) the famous archer of their hometown had to shape an own for Roy. Naturally, the two-year-old was not able to hit the target.

But Brave Bow trained him until he passed away and Roy had continued to train. Every day. Five hours a day. Sometimes he even practiced an hour at night if he ever woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. He snuck out at those times, breaking one of the most important rules the orphanage had. But Roy didn't care; he had to practice.

Now, he would see if the result of training had paid off.

He drew the arrow back just as the target started moving. The other archers would wait for a start signal, but young Roy took a chance when he felt his eyes land on a direction that felt right; that he _knew_ was right.

And he fired.

**-o-o-o-**

The four men reacted differently. Clark Kent had been about to take a bite of the hot dog he and Barry Allen had fetched – one for each – but had stopped mid-way. Said speedster's green eyes had widened greatly, whilst Bruce Wayne had merely raised an eyebrow at the sight. And here all of them had expected to see nothing but some amateur shooting. Surely enough, they had seen some potential, but it had been too weak according to their own archer and if someone was worthy of judging that it was Oliver Queen.

Said billionaire's eyes had first been as wide as Barry's, but then they had narrowed and a slight smirk had formed on the blond man's lips.

The arrow stood proud at the target. Its hold was a bit weak; Green Arrow could detect that it barely hung onto the target. Yet, he could see with his experienced eyes that whoever had shot that arrow had talent but lacked some strength. Could this mystery archer be a youngster? A teenager with that talent would have been able to fasten the arrow, wouldn't he?

Briefly, Oliver glanced to the side, ignoring the mumbling and baffled expressions most people around them held. The archer placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder and questioned silently: "Hey, Bruce, you saw where it came from?"

As he'd expected the other billionaire pointed subtly in the direction of where the forest began. The village was shielded by many tall bushes before the forest started and just when Bruce pointed Oliver's green eyes detected something moving. Something small.

"Here."

Barry received the untouched hot-dog and then glanced over his shoulder as Ollie disappeared. The speedster then turned to look at Clark who shrugged his shoulders lightly. For the first time since they had arrived at this small village with his colleagues, Bruce Wayne's lips slightly tugged. But it happened too fast for Clark to detect; yet Barry seemed to have. Then the blond hero smirked a bit as well, and took a bite of his friend's supposed lunch.

Meanwhile, Oliver had managed to sneak away undetected by the confused crowd. The people in charge seemed to have gotten the other archers' attention though, thus had restarted the tournament. Green Arrow, however, paid it no mind and instead moved to behind the bushes, in which he crouched down and scanned the area. The forest was open and clear here at the beginning of it.

Open enough for Oliver to easily notice a black figure moving with a bow in hand and quiver on his back. It made the billionaire smile; judging by the fast-moving figure's size, it had been as he'd thought.

A child.

A child had shown more talent than all his superiors.

Impressive.

Quickly, Oliver followed the black moving figure until he barely saw said person disappear into a hole in a big tree. Then he proceeded by moving toward the tree in which he looked through the hole. A couple of blue eyes came into view and then the cloaked figure moved further in, a frightened gasp being heard.

"Shh, shh," Oliver said soothingly, his head cocking slightly to the side, eyes narrowing as he tried to make out the person inside of the tree. He put up his hands up in a calmer manner. "I won't hurt you, kid. No worries."

And the figure put down his hood, revealing a young boy's face; redheaded and with short-cut hair. He also had big, blue eyes, his body quivering and his hands gripping the bow that barely had enough space inside of the shallow tree.

"Hi," continued the blond archer in a whisper. "My name's Oliver Queen. What's yours?"

The kid eyed him warily, still shaking lightly as he scanned Oliver. His eyes were going up and down, taking in the whole view of the blond haired male. Then he lightly swallowed and said, almost too silently to be heard: "Roy. Roy Harper." Then, the boy abruptly jumped forward, his eyes gazing pleadingly at the bearded archer. "Please don't tell! Please don't tell it was me; I'll get slapped. The keepers at the orphanage will be-be so angry and-and-"

"Oi, oi, calm down, kiddo," Oliver soothed and held out his arms. "Now, come here, 'kay?"

Hesitantly, Roy eyed the arms stretched out toward him. The boy felt fragile and weak – scared of what would happen if any of his keepers found out – but those arms… They looked so welcoming and warm. Just like Brave Bow's. If what he remembered was true, they had some very noticeable resemblances those arms and Brave Bow's.

Therefore Roy found enough trust to move into those arms and be lowered down to the ground. There Oliver crouched by his side, both hands on the boy's shoulders as he smiled softly at him. "Hey there little man, you sure have some talent there. How old are you anyhow, kid?"

"F-four."

Hearing this Oliver's eyes widened greatly, mouth silently parting. A four-year-old. A four-year-old had shot an arrow from a farther distance than his superiors and yet hit the target? Sure, the arrow hadn't been strong enough to hold on that long, but that didn't matter when it came to the impressiveness of what the child had done. _How_ could a boy who was only _four_ have been able to do such a thing?

Could he have a prodigy before him? Yes, it had to be so.

"You know, I have _never_ met a four-year-old who could do _anything _like you just did. How is it you were able to do that, little guy?" Oliver's smile grew a bit, though his eyes were thoughtful. Roy's focus was on the man's kindness, however. None of the other village men talked to him like that. They were rough, _mean_ – some were just fast moving and had no time. This man, on the other hand, was way different.

"Brave Bow," the redheaded boy answered. "Brave Bow taught me."

"Heh, haven't heard of that guy," Oliver murmured with a small grin. "Is he like your town's Green Arrow?"

Hearing this, Roy's eyes widened and he made a very slight bounce. It was not hard to understand that Oliver had mentioned something that trigged some passion within the boy. He gripped the man's shirt and grinned. "Green Arrow! Do you know him? Do you? I've seen him on TV. I sneak into the keepers' lounge in an airlift. They don't know that I watch the news so I can see Green Arrow and other superheroes."

"You a fan then," Oliver stated, seemingly pleased though for a four-year-old that was hard to see. Roy was too excited, which caused the blond man to go on. "In fact, I come from Star City where Green Arrow lives."

"_Really_? Do you know him? You know, like in real person. Like, have you met him, mister?"

It was definitely humorous to think that such a big fan of his had really met him, yet was completely unaware of it. Oliver ruffled the kid's hair, his grin growing. "I haven't met him in person, but I have_ seen_ him. I bet you would like that, or what?" he chuckled and stood up.

"Yeah…" The excited expression had vanished at once and Oliver frowned. The kid had suddenly found his shoes quite interesting; his head was lowered. "… But I'll never. I have to stay here."

"Oh? And Why's that?"

"I don't have a mommy or daddy," Roy told, surprising Oliver by the way he shrugged; the kid seemed silently frustrated, as if there was something he tried to remember. "And since Brave Bow's dead too I'm all alone. Mister Moorland says people won't adopt me either; he says I'm _unwanted_ but never says why."

As Oliver watched kid avoid his gaze, he felt his frown deepen. There were too many horrible, ignorant adults out there; people who enjoyed tearing a younger, orphaned boy down because it made said person feel bigger and more powerful. As a hero he came upon that too often for his own liking.

Oliver Queen, _Green Arrow_, reached out his hand and smirked. "Hey, you want to practice some shooting? I did some archery myself when I was younger; I think I have some moves I can show."

And Roy's face brightened once more, his hand reaching out to grip around Oliver's. Big, strong fingers held his hand in place, locking securely around it as Roy skipped up to be by the blond man's side. There it was again; that strong feeling of safety and love. Roy Harper had missed that. Missed it a lot.

**-o-o-o-**

Earnestly, Bruce, Barry and Clark were not quite sure what they felt about how Oliver ditched them the morning after. Naturally, Bruce contemplated if he would be able to do the same, whilst Clark was more worried where their archer could have gone off. Barry, unsurprisingly, had not taken it in a good way. Here the speedster had wanted them to spend some time together – Bruce's theory was that Flash had _way_ too much time to spend (plus being friendless) – and then their fourth man just ditched them? Unacceptable.

Once again the speedster had not surprised Bruce and Clark when he called Oliver the moment he realised he was gone. Bruce could not really fathom what Barry had wanted to accomplish with that (nor why he bothered to try when they had such bad reception). If Green Arrow had gone out of his own it meant two things: one, he wasn't going to return before he decided so himself no matter what Barry said and two, what he needed to do, whatever it was, did not involve them.

Thus, Bruce Wayne was not surprised when Barry received no answer.

After convincing Barry that running around looking for Oliver was a bad idea, Clark had gotten both his super-fast colleague and the brooding Bat out of the cabin. They spent the day doing what Barry had planned to do, Bruce claiming it had been a waste of time when they got back, whilst Clark had, seemingly, enjoyed himself. That too was no surprise for the almighty Bruce Wayne.

What did surprise him, on the other hand, was that he found Oliver with a kid outside the cabin. The blond man had his arms around the little boy as he instructed him with the bow and arrow.

"All right, what's going on?" Clark questioned as he stepped up and eyed the scene before him.

Star City's hero didn't seem the least bothered by his friends' presence and instead raised his head and barely served them a glance, before returning to speaking softly to the boy whose smile was bright and happy. Then, before his colleagues could continue asking him about the kid, the arrow was fired.

It hit the target straight on.

"Did I do good?" whispered the red haired boy, looking anxiously up at Oliver.

Said archer patted the boy's back and smiled proudly. "You sure did, kid! Now your arrow is completely stuck onto the target, just like it's supposed to!"

And Bruce felt another wave of light shock when the boy threw his arms around Ollie's neck and bounced up and down, so full of joy, as he laughed happily. "You're the best, Mr. Ollie!" cheered the boy. "The best!"

"Heh, thanks, kid," answered Arrow, but then added softly: "And so are you."

The hug lasted a couple of long drawn seconds, before Oliver had to send Roy home. The four-year-old didn't seem quite thrilled about that but did as told either way. The last thing the four Leaguers saw of the child was him walking away from the cabin, bow and quiver in hand as he skipped down the slim road.

It wasn't before the door to the cabin was locked and his colleagues were removing their outerwear that questions from their speedster were thrown at Green Arrow. "Okay, Ollie, first you run off this morning when we were supposed to have a weekend together and when we find you, you're with a kid? Who is that little guy anyway?" Barry wondered, slightly frowning as he put his jacket on the hanger.

"His name is Roy; Roy Harper," Oliver answered back in a nonchalant tone, obviously not rueful to the fact that he had left his friends without telling them. "He was the one who hit the target dead on yesterday."

Barry and Clark, who had been about to remove their backpacks, stopped in the motion, whilst Bruce turned his head to look at the blond archer with an raised eyebrow. The Gothamite then stepped up toward Oliver and asked: "How old is that boy?"

"Four."

"_Four_?" Clark and Barry repeated at the same time.

Their responses were just what Oliver had expected; after all, he'd had the same reaction when he got to hear of Roy's age. That kid did look a bit older than he was, but even so shooting like he did was not normal for a child. The boy was pure talent and Oliver had no doubt that if he got the proper training this boy would be able to surpass him.

And Oliver had played with this thought as he'd spent his day with Roy. Not only had enjoyed himself to the limit, but he kept pondering how Roy would feel to be trained by Green Arrow, to come home with him. It was a rather… _bold_ thought, yes, but already – after such short amounts of time – the thought of leaving Roy to an orphanage who clearly did not see his potential nor treated him nicely was unbearable.

"Are you telling the archer who hit the target yesterday is a four-year-old child?" Clark mused, disbelief evident in his voice as he and Barry too stepped up to scan Oliver's facial expression. It wasn't like the archer to be this silent and passive; he was downright acting hostile or distant, but his face was marred with thoughtfulness. That was not like Oliver Queen either.

"Yes," confirmed Oliver as he looked away from his friends' faces. "I've trained him all day. He's quite an eager one and, ironically enough, he worships Green Arrow. He's an orphan and the keepers at the orphanage don't treat him very well. I've been thinking about how stupid it would be to waste such talent on people who doesn't see it."

There was a pause, in which his teammates seemed to take in what Oliver was trying to hint at. Bruce, being the harsh yet reasonable, voice that he was said: "You do understand that taking in a kid – a four-year-old at that – is quite _bold_."

"Of course, I know. All too well."

"What about Dinah?" Barry shot in. "Shouldn't you talk to her about this?"

Dinah… What _would_ she say when she heard of his idea? They had _never_ spoken about children. Only about them. As if there weren't going to be anyone else in their lives, with the exception of the League once in a while. He claimed he knew his fiancé in and out, but right there and then, when he thought of how she would respond to this bold move, he realised he had no idea what she would do or say.

As usual, Bruce saw straight through him. The Dark Knight crossed his arms and huffed. "You haven't thought of that." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Listen, I just know that this kid is special and if I leave him here I don't know if I can ever forgive myself. This… isn't just about… you know, his talent. It's something more," Oliver sighed as he sat down in the closest armchair, hands running over his face as he tried to place what he was currently feeling. "He's a good boy. He deserves something more and I think I could give that to him."

Silence was all that met him. Oliver didn't meet their eyes and truly he was beginning to doubt himself when he didn't hear them say anything. He seemed to value their opinions far more than he'd originally thought.

Then a cell phone was suddenly pushed in front of his lowered vision; he looked up to meet Barry Allen's eyes; the blond seemed to have forgiven him wholeheartedly and was now smiling gently. "Call her," he told. "And before we know it I'm gonna be Uncle Barry for the second time!"

Rolling his eyes fondly, Oliver grabbed the phone. He had some weird friends, but that was what came with being a superhero, he supposed. And this was what he thought of as he dialled Dinah Lance's number.

Having Roy would maybe make his life even more worth living.

* * *

><p><strong>-o-<strong>

Star City, 1998

Roy Harper fidgeted nervously as he stepped out of the airport; his heart felt as if it was beating a hundred times faster than usual and his palms were all icky and sweaty. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and warmth spread throughout his body. It calmed him, and as he looked up at Oliver Queen he realised he was not afraid anymore. He felt safe; so safe and sound.

Smiling gently, Oliver crouched down beside the four-year-old and winked playfully. "Hey, there, sport. There's no need to be all nervous. Everything's going to fine now and you just wait until you see _my_ practice hall. It'll make those courts around your home village look pathetic in comparison."

Roy grinned, and wrapped his arms around his newly adopted father's neck, hands squeezing said neck tightly. Oliver had been forced to stay in the village far longer than his friends to clear up everything that had to do with the adoption of Roy. After talking long and hard with Dinah she had, boldly, agreed and now she was going to meet her son for the first time. Sure enough, he was Oliver's responsibility and legally it was only said archer who owned the young boy, but soon he and Dinah would marry and then they would all be a family.

"Everything's so big," Rou murmured as his gaze searched the airport. He watched cabs drive by and park in front of entrance, he saw people move quickly to reach their bus, the airplane or simply try to get a ride. It was fascinating and so different from what he was used to. In a way, it frightened him, but then again it was exciting and new.

"Heh, you haven't seen nothing yet, kiddo," murmured Oliver. Said billionaire pressed Roy closer to himself as they walked further up ahead where Dinah had said she would pick them up. He didn't want to lose Roy in the mass of people and truthfully Oliver had started to feel rather protective of his adoptive son. He guessed this was normal for any father; it was a new feeling, but it was definitely something he could adjust to.

They stopped just as a black Camaro parked in front of the pavement. Oliver lazily raised his hand, knowing exactly who was driving it, before patting Roy's head fondly. "Ready to meet your new mama, kiddo?" he said.

Roy latched himself onto Oliver's pant leg, fists curling around the fabric. His heart was back to beating harshly against his ribcage. His thoughts raced through his mind in a tremendous speed.

Would she like him?

Would she be nice to him?

Would she hold him?

Would she really look at him as her son?

He had never had a mother. How could he know how this worked? How it felt like?

The car-door was shoved open and out came a tall, muscular, but slender, woman with blonde, soft hair. She was wearing a black blouse that looked beautifully on her fit body, complete with dark jeans, sunglasses and black high-heels. Her delicate fingers reached up to remove the glasses on her face.

Roy felt his heart skip a beat when blue eyes landed on him. Then she smiled warmly – kindly. He watched her lean legs crouch down and he quivered slightly when she was at his eye-level, face only about eight centimetres from his own. She was very beautiful and so nice; no woman had looked at _him_ like that. At least no woman this young. The old ladies in his home village were actually very nice, but the younger women found him bothersome.

He was an unwanted child after all. An orphan.

No, wait. He _had been_. Not anymore. Never again.

"Hi, Roy," Oliver's fiancé said. "I'm Dinah."

"Hi," whispered Roy back, blushing slightly. "You're pretty."

And she chuckled; it was a soothing, warm laughter. Gently she opened her arms and asked for a hug. Roy didn't know what to do at first, because he had never experienced anyone so open toward him. But those warm arms were too welcoming and soon he was in them, face pressed up against a warm chest as she hugged his much smaller frame.

Dinah Lance raised her gaze, blue eyes locking with Oliver's green ones. "He's… so…"

"Perfect?" offered Oliver as he crossed his arms with a soft smile.

His fiancé just rolled her eyes and then said, as she stroked Roy's fiery red locks: "I was going to say sweet, but I guess perfect will have to do."

Then Roy was placed onto the ground. Unexpectedly, he felt her kiss his forehead as if they had always known each other. As if he had been her son from the start. For a child, he could not fathom how she could treat him like this already, but Roy didn't understand how good these people he had been adopted by truly was. He would soon though, if he was not having an idea already.

Blue eyes watched as Dinah wrapped her arms around Oliver's neck and captured his lips warmly. He heard her say she had missed him and he said the same, plus something Roy didn't quite understand but by the way Dinah chuckled he suspected it was a joke. Unintentionally, he smiled happily by the view.

First now it all sunk in.

He had a mama.

He had a papa.

He had parents.

Arms. He felt them lift him up and then he buried his face into a strong chest. He was home. Welcomed by open arms. And he was happy. _So happy_.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: <strong>I_ didn't make up Brave Bow. He's a canon DC character who took care of Roy after his father died according to the DC database._


	8. Part 8: An Alice, A Cinderella

**Child's Mind**

**Part: VIII**

* * *

><p>"<em>It's been a long day<em>_  
><em>_And there's still work to do__  
><em>_She's pulling at me__  
><em>_Saying "Dad, I need you…_"

~ Steven Curtis Chapman (Cinderella lyrics)

**-o-**

Star City, 1999

Roy's daddy was Green Arrow.

For the redhead that had been a huge surprise and when he had found out he had first been in shock. As in terribly shocked. He had stood completely still, big, blue eyes looking up at Oliver Queen as if someone had announced that there were raining bright pink elephants outside. But all too quickly, his mouth had stretched into a huge smile and he had leaped into the man's arms, gushing and talking all too quickly.

Oliver had chuckled and Dinah had downright laughed at the sight. Naturally, she too had gotten leaped at when Roy got to know she was Black Canary, also a member of the Justice League. Now that he looked closer he realised that behind those fancy glasses she wore she did look exactly like Canary when she was shown on TV. Yet, the blonde hero had always been good at trying to avoid the press, so he hadn't much to compare her to.

The orphaned boy who had not had anyone to take care of him since Brave Bow died, had now two superhero parents. Kids his aged _dreamed_ that their parents were that cool, but for Roy it was all reality – all was _real_. They were _superheroes._

At first, the redhead had found it cooler than anything. Ollie and Dinah had been forced to tell superhero tales all day long, and Roy sucked it all to him like a vacuum cleaner. Though both his adoptive parents did enjoy having someone to gloat a bit to, they soon realised that talking constantly about their superhero experiences was just impossible. Hence, they made a deal. If Roy followed the rules and didn't disobey they would always tell two stories at night before he went to bed.

Life was great. Everything seemed to have fallen into place.

Truthfully, there was only one thing Roy thought of as a downside of having superhero parents. And those were days like these. Days where he was greeted by babysitter, Becky Adams, the moment he stepped inside of the door. The tall, lithe girl with the bob-cut, brown hair was always nice to him and she could be a lot of fun, but nevertheless, he felt a twinge of sadness whenever he came home and Oliver and Dinah were not there.

"Where's Mom and Dad?" he asked as he removed his shoes and made his way inside.

Becky threw the kid a sympathetic look and then crouched down to his eyelevel with a warm smile. "They went to work, kiddo. I'm sorry; they really wanted to pick you up from Caleb's place, but they were in a hurry. They said they'd try to be back by eleven though."

It was easy to see that the little boy's mood darkened somewhat, but nevertheless he sat down by the dining table where Becky served him some Chicken Chop Suey. Becky was a student at Star City's local Cooking College. She therefore always practiced her cooking for Roy whenever she could.

On occasions he would eat with a great appetite, others he would eat slowly but enough to be properly fed, and then there were times like now. At days like these Roy would sit silently and look at his food with a sad expression. He wouldn't smile, nor eat, before Becky sat down with him and first when she did he would eat his food. Very, _very_ slowly.

There was something different about Roy today though. Instead of looking at his food his eyes rested on the giant window that made the wall of Queen Mansion's dining room. He watched the road outside, and the city lights. It was beautiful, but the feeling inside of him couldn't make Roy enjoy it.

The four-year-old suddenly turned to look at his babysitter, eyes full of concern. He bit his lip and then whispered: "Becky, I don't feel so good."

"Oh?" the brunette said, eyes widening somewhat. "Is it your tummy, Roy? Do you have a stomach-ache?"

"No," murmured the boy. Roy curled his fingers around the tablecloth. "It's something else."

Hearing this, Becky's face went from concerned to confused. She tilted her head slightly to the side and then reached over to put her hand on his forehead. Roy did look far more upset to her than he had done minutes ago; he was unnaturally quiet. "Well, you're not warm so you don't have a fever at least. What's really on your mind, kiddo?"

"I think Mommy and Daddy are… having a bad day…"

**-o-**

The facility was a fiery death trap; everything was burning from the top and down. Truthfully, neither Black Canary nor Green Arrow were sure if they could even make it outside alive. For a brief moment, both heroes were gripped by fear; it grew the faster they moved, the faster they kicked open doors in their attempts to get out. What was even more frustrating was that they had entered this nightmare without any good purpose. There was no one to save; only red flames licking themselves over furniture, walls and the floor.

Instinctively, Green Arrow reached for his soon-to-be-wife's hand and tugged her to him. They had abruptly stopped when burning pieces of the roof came crashing down on them. If Dinah had moved another step she would have been crushed; the feeling of relief overwhelmed Oliver, if only for a second, before he took Canary by the arm and pulled her in another direction.

"I have to use one of my arrows," called Oliver as they leaped to the side; more burning pieces of wood falling down. "It's the only way!"

"Arrow, that's crazy talk!" Black Canary spoke, her blue eyes narrowing as she jumped over a burning chair that was in her way. "One blow on this block and it's going to come down on our heads; you want that?"

"We called in for help thirty minutes ago and they're still not here. They won't make it in time, and you know that. It's the only way."

"But-"

Dinah was cut off as pieces of the burning roof once again came falling. This time she wasn't fast enough and her left arm came in contact with the fiery wood. She muffled a loud scream in pain, but her groaning was enough to catch Green Arrow's attention. He instantly ripped off his hood and wrapped it around her burned arm. It had been bare due to the fact that her jacket had previously caught fire.

Back then, Dinah had avoided getting burned. She was not that lucky this time though.

"Thanks," she mumbled exhaustingly as Arrow finished bandaging her ugly burn. He then pulled her to him as he looked around; both sets of eyes tried to find another way to escape, but found none. "All right, use your arrows," Dinah added in defeat, too tired and lungs too full of smoke to care. "Just… get us out of here."

Oliver nodded and readied his bow with an explosive arrow, but he never got the chance to fire. Suddenly, he heard weak cry. The sound the fire caused made it hard to comprehend whether it was true or just his imagination, but when he exchanged looks with Dinah, he knew he wasn't mishearing things.

"Come," she urged and tugged him along to the right.

The fire was getting more intense and the two heroes were most definitely aware that they had only minutes left. If they kept taking in the smoke like they did they would no longer be able to go on. They had resorted to crouching down in lieu of dashing through the building in an upright position. That way they would last longer, if only a little.

Quickly, they followed the cries, underneath burning poles of wood, skimmed through various rooms until they finally found the source of the crying. Canary felt her eyes widen slightly as she saw a little girl curled up like ball. Beside her lay a body, a tanned woman with black hair; her lower half was covered by a burning bookshelf and her arm was twisted in a tangled, twisted way.

Arrow and Canary dashed forward to remove the bookshelf, but it was easy to see that she was gone. She had no pulse and by the way her head was bleeding it was safe to assume that it had gotten hit crucially when the shelf had fallen. Nevertheless, they were both tempted to take her with, mostly for the little girl who was crying hysterically; brown eyes so wide of fear and hands quivering.

A crash sounded. The roof was giving in.

Quickly, Black Canary shoved Oliver in the shoulder and yelled: "We have to leave her behind! I'll take the kid, you…" Dinah coughed, feeling the smoke clouding her senses.

"Make a hole," finished Arrow. "Got it."

Black Canary scooped the crying girl into her arms, and then followed as Green Arrow ran toward the wall. "When this arrow goes, jump onto my back!" he yelled over the crashing sounds that were now more frequent than before.

No answer came, because straight after the archer fired his arrow. And it exploded.

With the child crying against her chest, Canary threw herself onto her husband's back.

She felt them jump.

She felt them fall.

Then everything hurt. _Everything_.

Dinah felt her side hit the ground; the gravel and stones were scraping up her already burnt skin. She let out a silent yell in pain, but pressed the crying child close in an attempt to distract herself from the intense burning she felt in her own body. As she pressed the crying child close Dinah lost consciousness.

And the female hero didn't regain it before several hours later when she opened her eyes, for only to look up in the roof of the medical bay at the Watchtower. Her body was still extremely sore, but the pain had dimmed somewhat, probably due to the painkillers they usually got by J'onn whenever any of them were seriously hurt. Mostly, it was used for the completely human members of the League, but on occasions the meta-humans had some good use for it too.

Slowly she raised her head and was not surprised to be met by the Batman. Said Caped Crusader sent her a blank stare, before he, without a word, handed her a glass of water. Dinah didn't manage to even utter a 'thank you' and therefore settled with a look that expressed her appreciation. Not long after she had swallowed down, she was taken by a coughing fit.

J'onn, who she first now realised was also in the room, appeared to awkwardly pat her back and this time she really was able to croak out a "thank you" to the Martian who just nodded seriously at her. "We apologize that it took such a long time for us to get to you; Wotan was causing quite some trouble."

"Heh…" Canary coughed. "… no more words needed." She coughed again and tried to move her stiff, sore body. She then glanced to the side and felt her blood freeze when she saw the man that still was her fiancé. They had still not gotten down to actually get married, and seeing Oliver's current condition she doubted they would tie the knot for a while.

"He's stable," Batman stiffly told, his white eyes glancing over at his fellow Leaguer. Oliver Queen was covered in bandages, mostly body wise so his head was, for the most part, visible. "He's suffering from a concussion, a few broken ribs, and some serious burns, but he's going to be fine. Nothing life threatening."

Dinah let go of a relieved breath she had not been aware of she'd held in. The blond woman then, though it hurt a lot, reached out and touched her fiancé's bandaged hand and squeezed. "Has he come to while I was asleep?"

"Yes, he has," J'onn confirmed with a brief nod toward the blond crime fighter. "He wasn't fully… all there, but that was mostly due to the painkillers. He should wake up and then I'm positive he'll be overjoyed to see that you're safe and sound. We were a bit worried about the wound in your head."

With slow movements Black Canary reached up and touched the back of her skull, but instantly grimaced. The bandage wrapped around her head was tight and therefore she didn't quite understand _why_ she hadn't noticed it before. The light impact of her hand had made her somewhat dizzy, but before she was able to settle into her bed, her eyes flew open in realisation.

"Roy!" she yelled.

"Is here," Batman finished.

Then, as it a cue, the metal doors swished open and Barry Allen came into sight. The blond man sent her a small smile, but Dinah's eyes were on her adoptive son who instantly ran forward and leaped into bed. Black Canary opened her arms, but regretted it somewhat when she groaned out in pain due to the impact of Roy jumping into her embrace.

"Mommy! Mommy where are you hurt?" the boy asked, blue eyes worried as he scanned his mother's sore body. She and Oliver resembled mummies at the moment, so there was no wonder the young child held that concerned expression.

"It's okay, baby; some wounds. It comes with the job."

That sentence was used too much for Roy's liking, but he just wrapped his arms, now more cautiously, around his mother's neck and hugged her close. Dinah returned the embrace carefully for not to overexert any muscles. She buried her nose into her son's hair, glad that the mission had not left Roy orphaned once more. That thought was, often, what kept her going.

As Roy made himself comfortable against her, Dinah turned to glance curiously up at the Caped Crusader. Both he and Barry had studied her interaction with Roy from afar – she _knew_ they had – but the moment she looked up both averted their gaze. It was sort of amusing, really, but she pretended that she hadn't seen.

Instead she frowned lightly and tilted her head to the side. "What happened to that little girl? The one Oliver and I saved. Do you know who she is?"

Barry blinked, confirming that this was the first time he had gotten any news about a girl his two colleagues had, supposedly, saved. Batman, however, crossed his arms, as he curtly replied her. "Her name is Artemis Crock, and her mother Paula Crock, was the one you found dead by her side. The very same day you rescued Artemis, Mrs. Crock was supposed to be taken into prison for being proven guiltily for crime."

Canary blinked a bit; her head was back to throbbing painfully, but as a Leaguer she had dealt with such before and soon this information sunk in. Dinah sighed and draped a hand over her face. "Family?" she enquired, slightly coughing as she tried to make herself comfortable against the pillow. Roy snuggled closer as she tightened her hold.

"No," Bruce answered. "Her only relative is her father and considering whom he is… I doubt he is going to tend to her."

Frowning, Barry glanced at the Dark Knight. "And the father is…?"

"Sportsmaster."

Now, hearing this was not something Black Canary had expected. She pursed her lips, a thoughtful expression making its way to her face. So, she was the daughter of Lawrence Crock, was she? Well, that could cause a problem. If Canary was not wrong, Lawrence's criminal adventures had caused his oldest daughter, Jade, to die. If he got his claws on _this_ girl too, there was no doubt in Dinah's mind that the little girl she had saved could end up the same way.

The silence in the room was thick. Dinah glanced down as she thought long and hard, Roy still in her arms. Her thoughts were, however, abruptly interrupted when Oliver shifted in his hospital bed.

The blonde breathed out in relief when Oliver's eyes opened. They were a bit unfocused at first, but soon they regained the clear, green colour Dinah sometimes found irritating and yet always loved. She smiled and reached out to meet his hand; their fingers intertwined as he too sighed out, happy she was alive.

"That was some clusterfuck…" he murmured, mostly due to his head throbbing, his limbs sore

"Idiot, not so Roy can hear!" Black Canary hissed.

"Ow, hey, hey, just woke up here and you squeezing my hand – yeah, that kind of hurts!"

Batman raised an eyebrow at their antics, whilst Flash just grinned. Unlike the Batman, Barry recognised these sort of things, considering he was happily married. Nevertheless, Dinah and Oliver's relationship was slightly different from what he had with hiswife. Still the same adoration in there though.

Roy had climbed into his father's lap now and put his face against the archer's bandaged chest. There Oliver had wrapped one arm around his boy in a hug, tiredly stroking the vivid red hair to comfort the youngster. Batman observed a bit from afar, before he turned to J'onn and spoke: "We need to find a place for the girl."

This perked Dinah's curiosity. She turned to look at her colleagues, who instantly noticed that she was paying attention. Their eyes met hers as Barry said: "Any suggestions?"

"She's been home schooled, was not born in any form for hospital, and has basically been unknown to anyone but her family since she was born," Batman informed, with a light frown. "The only information we have is due to what we could dig up from her mother. There is no data of Lawrence Crock, thanks to his spare-time activities he only goes by Sportsmaster, so his connection to her was found through her mother's journals."

"They didn't burn down with the block?" Dinah frowned.

"They were newly moved to Star City, having been living in Gotham City up until now…"

"So newly moved that most of their belongings had not been taken to their new apartment," Dinah stated. "Am I right?"

"As usual," J'onn confirmed.

The female crime-fighter could not believe the lousy luck of that poor girl. They had barely stepped over the threshold to their new home and it got burnt down, along with the girl's only relative that, according to all the databases in the world, _existed_. The girl's father was no option for her, and hopefully Sportsmaster didn't know of her. existence. If Paula Crock had done so much to keep the girl a secret; then maybe she had been wise enough to not inform her daughter of her birth father.

Sighing, Dinah rubbed her temple, tiredly. She knew Oliver had glanced to her side and they were probably thinking the same. They had seen that crushed form of the little girl. So, scared, so fragile – were they really going to let _anyone else_ tend for her when they, who understood her pain, _knew_ what she had gone through, could do so?

Roy had yet to ask for a sibling but… Dinah glanced over at the redheaded boy whose eyes were curious, plagued by the fact that he didn't understand what was going on. She studied him for a moment, thought of how _great_ things had been since they got him and how his life had become ten times better as well. What if they could give that to this little girl? When she thought about it, she had always wanted a daughter.

Naturally, Dinah did not expect to be the mother of this child, but this girl needed her. As a hero the thought of leaving her alone to foster care and have the slight chance of ending up with someone who didn't properly take care of her.

"What did you say her name was?" Dinah wondered.

"Artemis," Batman curtly answered.

**-o-**

Her dark grey eyes were big as they glanced around the house, tanned fingers tightening around Dinah's hand. Artemis Crock was dressed in denim bib trousers with a pink sweater underneath, her old teddy pressed against her chest by her left hand. The hold tightened as her eyes swept over the entrance. The three-year-old could not fathom how _big_ this house were, and yet she had seen these kind of residence; never on the outside though and mostly on TV.

Then again, her mom had used to tell her that believing everyone one saw on TV was not the right way to go.

Remembering her mom, Artemis could not help but bite her lip as she tried not to cry. She was so confused, but she also understood. Mommy wasn't coming back. Mommy was gone now, but wherever this gone was Artemis simply couldn't understand fully. Mommy had explained to her that sometime people left and didn't come back. It was part of life and that it happened often to old people.

But Mommy hadn't been old; she just had stopped moving after that shelf had hit her. These people had told her that Mommy was gone now and that she wouldn't come back. Artemis didn't like them; not any of the superheroes she had met. Except for the blonde lady holding her hand. She was warm and inviting, and truthfully her boyfriend wasn't all _that_ bad either.

Dinah led her into the Queen manor. The living room was big, with giant windows that made it possible to scout out over Star City. She spared it a brief glance, but then she was taken to the kitchen, which was linked to the living room.

The blonde woman took hold of her and placed her gingerly in a chair. Artemis glanced, a bit curiously, though also warily, at the table. It was nicely laid with tons of good food spread all over; some she couldn't even identify. Sure, her mommy had always given her eatable things, but never anything like this.

It smelled… good. Really good.

"What's that?" Artemis enquired as she pointed her finger at what looked like a giant shrimp.

"Lobster," Canary chuckled, a warm kind of laughter that caught Artemis off guard. As long as she could remember no one but her mother had been so friendly toward her. Hearing that laughter made her recall one time she had done something similar. The first time her mother had introduced her to meatloaf.

She doubted Lobster and meatloaf tasted anything alike though. Then again, she wasn't hungry, so it didn't matter to her.

The blonde girl tugged her knees up to her chest, watching a bit fascinated as Dinah talked to one of the women on the kitchen. They were dressed in black with white aprons, so she guessed they worked for Dinah. Apparently, Oliver and Dinah had a lot of money – lots more than she and Mommy had once had.

"All right, thanks Judy, you're welcome to head home," she heard Dinah say as she gently patted the other woman's shoulder, which caused both of them to smile. Artemis cocked her head slightly to the side, watched as the women headed for the exit and then turned back to Dinah.

The blonde woman was grinning at her. "So, Artemis, what would you like to eat?"

Artemis averted her eyes. "I'm not hungry."

A sympathetic look crossed over Dinah's face. It had been a month now since what had happened, but four weeks was not enough. Artemis was a three-year-old, yes, but she was more than capable of holding onto the sorrow of her mom's death and so far that was exactly what the blonde girl was doing. She had been in the League's possession for a long time, before Bruce and Oliver had been able to get the papers needed to make her their official adopted daughter.

Undoubtedly, the young girl was not aware of the adoption. She saw it like she was just going to be living with them from now on, because her mother was no more. Explaining this for her had been a bit hard. She had been traumatized by the incident of her mother's death, so explaining to her how it all worked had been a difficult job. Nevertheless, there was a reason as to why Dinah was usually the voice of wisdom within the League, along with Batman and J'onn.

Sure, the Gothamite and Martian could have been of some assistance when explaining the situation for Artemis, but they were not very good with kids. Batman was too cold and J'onn was still a bit too new of this particular part of Earth's culture – ergo: none handled children too well.

Therefore, Dinah had not asked them.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?"

Black Canary stepped up to the small girl, her hand reaching out to touch the youngster's head. This seemed to catch Artemis' full attention. She looked at Dinah as if it was the most unnatural thing anyone would do. Of course, that wasn't the case. Though Paula Crock had been a strict person she had always taken good care of her daughter, thus it was not unusual for her to stroke Artemis' beautiful hair. However, no stranger had ever done so.

Not ever.

"Artemis," Dinah spoke up with a sigh. "It's okay to be sad."

The little girl didn't answer but instead tightened her small hands around her knees. "Why won't Mommy ever come back again, Dinah? Why did she go?" she whispered; she was scared and yet she wasn't when Dinah was being so nice, but she wanted Mommy. Why couldn't Mommy come back?

"We've been through this, Artemis," sighed the crime-fighter as she rubbed the girl's little back. "Your mommy isn't coming back because she's gone to heaven, so she won't come back, but I'll tell you a secret." This perked the girl's curiosity if only a little. She let Dinah scoop her gently into her arms and move them to the living room. There the blonde woman seated herself in one of the armchairs in the room and she said: "You know what I do when I think of my dead mommy?"

With wide eyes, Artemis shook her head, not sure what to think of the fact that Dinah's mother was dead as well. Carefully, she listened as the older female said: "When my mom died I was sad, but she told me that whenever I want to remember her, I should do this."

Artemis' eyes looked down as Dinah took her wrist and guided her hand to her torso. There the hero pressed the girl's palm lightly against the little chest. "Why?" the blonde girl whispered, eyes furrowing in confusion.

"Because that's where your loved ones _always_ end up."

"Even Mommy?"

"Yes, even your mommy."

Hearing this, Artemis laid her head on Dinah's shoulder. Said hero knew well that she was crying when the little body started shaking, but Dinah didn't fuzz. She wrapped her arms tightly around the crying Artemis, whose hold on her kept tightening the more she rocked her back and forth.

It was in this position her husband and son found Dinah when they returned later on from archery practice, though now they both were asleep. Oliver removed his quiver cautiously not to break the moment between Dinah and the new addition to their family, but his girlfriend was a light sleeper. She awoke the moment he and Roy stepped into the living room.

The redhead looked very tired, which was understandable. He had been up at the break of dawn, asking when Artemis would come, partly due to curiosity and partly because he wondered what was going to happen when she did arrive. Dinah hadn't been able to answer that, so she had sent both him and Oliver out for practice and overall a father and son day. She had asked Oliver to explain the situation fully for Roy; about what had happened to Artemis' mother and how she would, sort of, be his new sister.

Earnestly, Roy was partly okay with that, and partly not. He found it a bit unfair that he had barely had his parents for nine months and suddenly there was a new member in their family. Now, he was by no means a selfish, or obnoxious child (Oliver and Dinah had taught him better than that), but he had gotten used to having Dinah and Oliver for himself. Hence, his feelings were mixed.

Whether the four-year-old understood or not was debatable. He knew that he didn't fully like the fact that Artemis was coming to live with them, and yet, he felt also a bit excited – _curious_.

"Is that her, Dad?" he asked, tugging lightly on Oliver's sleeve as he looked at the sleeping girl in Dinah's lap.

"Sure is," Oliver said with a small smile. "How's she feeling?"

Sighing, a half slumbering Dinah glanced down at the sleeping girl. Then she softly smiled. "Better," she said. "I think."

**-o-**

Star City, 2000

Getting to know Artemis Crock for who the small girl really was, turned out to be a challenge. Dinah and Oliver had been most aware that dealing with a child plagued by sorrow, could be tough, but this was different than with Roy. He had willingly wished for nothing more than a family and to go with Ollie. Artemis on the other hand didn't know what she wanted; the poor blonde girl hardly knew what she felt at the moment.

And yet, for each day that passed things started to work out. Naturally, combining both Artemis and Roy hadn't been easy, consider that their son seemed a bit jealous for her presence, but for each day Canary and Arrow did their best to make things better for both Artemis and Roy.

Combining parenting and being superheroes had turned out to be difficult. Therefore, to speed of the process of making Artemis feel at home and Roy to become more used to not being on only child, they decided to go out doing their hero work one at a time.

It seemed to be working.

Oliver had been caught off guard when almost a year later the girl had approached him as he was doing some light shaving in the bathroom. His bathrobe was still on after a refreshing shower, and truthfully the archer had been so caught up in his own thoughts that she had been somewhat startled when he heard the girl speak.

"Ollie?"

His head whipped to the side, causing him to make a light scratch on his cheek. He formed a grimace in annoyance and grabbed for a piece of toilet paper to clean his face from the light blood drops. He noticed Artemis' worried look; the girl probably thought she'd done something bad. But all he did was waving Artemis encouragingly inside. "Yes, what is it, Artemis?"

The tanned-skinned girl didn't answer at first, but instead made her way over to the toilet. There she put down the lid and climbed up on it, as she watched her adoptive father continue usual morning routine. Ollie didn't pay much attention to such routines, however, when Artemis said: "Would Mommy be sad that I'm here?"

Green eyes widened slightly. His eyes swept over to her, took in the small form that seemed to fidget so nervously. Oliver had grown fond of this girl. She was passionate, and determined. Despite the fact that she still mourned her mother, she was strong and she didn't let Roy push her around, which definitely was amusing. She was a fighter and she had been so brave.

He had hardly seen her cry over her mother, but instead kept telling Dinah comforting stories of her. Undoubtedly, this helped, because the more Artemis kept remembering the good things about her mother, the less hurt she would feel.

She had now been at their house for almost twelve months and hardly woke up from nightmares. Oliver and Dinah had even played with the idea of her sharing a room with Roy. Mostly, because the manor only had one room (yet) fitted for children, and because, well, Artemis' constant presence in their bedroom had made the sex-life rather… rare. A bit too rare for Oliver's liking.

Naturally, that was not on his mind at this very moment. Instead he kneeled by the girl's side, and placed a big, comforting hand on her shoulder. Her dark eyes met his and he saw devotion in those orbs. So much _trust_. It really made him feel that what he and Dinah had done really had made a difference. She was part of the family now, whether she considered herself that or not.

Artemis, now turned four, fidgeted a bit under his gaze.

Oliver smiled. "You know what I think?" She shook her head and he decided to continue. "I think your mom would be very proud that you've been so brave. I think she likes that you are here and I'm not saying that because I don't want you to leave. I'm saying this because your mom would want someone to love you."

He hadn't expected her eyes to widen, nor the question that came afterwards.

"Do you… you and Dinah, and Roy… _love_ me?"

"Of course we do, kiddo," Oliver said with a tug of his lips. "We only keep people we like around. Especially in our house." The archer straightened up, wiped what he had left of shaving cream from his face. He ignored what he had of facial hair that was unnecessary, and instead lifted her up in his arms. "Now, how about you, me and Roy go out to have some fun today, eh?"

Fun was exactly what Artemis found her adoptive father's suggestion. Only an hour later, Oliver and Roy showed her where they trained, which made her wide-eyed. Oliver Queen had a personal gymnasium where targets were lined up on the front wall, where the point, naturally, was to hit said targets with arrows.

Artemis had been with her adoptive family for nearly a year now and knew this was where the boys went whenever they wanted to enjoy themselves. Oliver Queen was Green Arrow, after all, so it was far from surprising. Nevertheless, it was not before today that Artemis discovered that archery was definitely something she would like to try out herself.

Therefore, she had tugged on Roy's sleeve and asked: "Can I try?"

"Try what?" Roy asked, puzzled. By now the redhead had long since gotten used to having a sister. They bickered, they laughed and they had shared a lot together over the months, but sharing his arrows and his bow? Well, Roy wasn't sure if they had reached that point yet.

"Your bow and arrow."

The five-year-old looked reluctant, but her eyes were pleading. Besides, the way his father stared him down made even tough Roy quiver a bit. He sighed but handed her his gear. "Okay, but don't break anything!"

"I promise!"

"Pinkie promise?"

They held out their pinkies, linked them and then Artemis giggled. Roy just grinned, and then watched as Oliver crouched down by his sister, instructing her how to hold the bow and arrow properly. "A bit higher," he commented as he raised her arm so the arrow wouldn't point downwards. "Now, remember, keep your eye on the target. Be firm."

Artemis straightened up. "That's my girl," Oliver praised, which in turn made the blonde girl grin.

The bow was small, special made for Roy. But said redhead was still a bit too big, so for Artemis it was a heavy load. And yet, she didn't falter when she raised her small hands, the hands of a four-year-old, and then let the arrow lunge toward a target.

Oliver Queen would never forget that first shot. How it sailed through the air and landed on the target. Far from in the middle, like he and Roy practiced on doing, but it hit. A four-year-old girl – _his _four year old girl– had hit a target the first time she tried out a bow and arrow. And that day he knew, that his children were gifted.

Gifted beyond compare.

"Wow!" Roy said. "You hit it! You actually hit it!"

Artemis bounced, so happy, so blissful. She threw her hands around Roy, who tried to pry her off by saying that girls still had cooties. And Oliver chuckled as he watched them go at it, Roy somewhat insulting her and Artemis sticking her tongue out at her older brother. For a moment it felt as if they had always been like this; that Artemis and Roy had been a part of his life forever.

He thought he'd been lucky when getting a kid like Roy. Turned out he'd been lucky to get some like Artemis into his life as well.

"Hey, Daddy, come on!"

"Dad, we need you!"

Oliver raised his eyes. It dawned on him that he hadn't paid attention and that his little archers were now across the court, trying to remove the arrows he, himself, had shot from the targets. Of course, those arrows had been shot with too much force for them to wriggle out of their hold.

The billionaire smiled.

It was the first time Artemis had called him _dad_.


	9. Part 9: Aftermath Depend on Me

**Child's Mind**

**Aftermath**

* * *

><p><strong>-o-<strong>

_I'll be your rock, I'll have your back_  
><em>If you go off a beaten track<em>  
><em>I can't say how your life will be<em>  
><em>But there's one thing I guarantee<em>  
><em>You can depend on me…<em>

~ Babel Fish ("Depend on Me" Lyrics)

**-o-**

Watchtower, 2003

"You adopted a _kid_?"

Bruce was tempted to reply that no, he had not adopted a kid. He had adopted a ten foot dinosaur with chicken wings. Then again, he was not in the mood to let out that sort of humour. He had to maintain the image of never saying anything that was not to be taken seriously. Granted, he could be sarcastic – to very noticeable extent – but he was having a good day and letting Barry see this was just not optional.

_That_ he intended to keep for himself.

The Dark Knight therefore just sent the speedster the kind of Bat-look that would make anyone feel downright _dumb_. However, Barry had spent too much time with the Caped Crusader to be affected.

"Seriously, Bats?_ You_ adopted a kid?" Barry crossed his arms, disbelief evident in his voice. "_How_ did this happen?"

Batman strode past him, knowing the speedster would follow, which he counted on. If he was going to discuss Richard, then he would only do it with the founders of the League, plus Green Arrow and Black Canary. The most trustworthy ones – the ones who knew him as Bruce Wayne and not only as Gotham's protector.

As expected Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Aquaman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow and Black Canary were all found in the monitor room. He wasn't surprised; they knew this was the first place he would go to.

Flash locked the door behind his back and Bruce sighed unnoticeably. There were times like these he wished he hadn't, kind of, gotten _close_ to his colleagues. The moment they got to know of his secret identity, it they considered him family. Batman didn't quite understand that logic, nor had he tried to. For the time being, he only considered Richard and Alfred his family. However, these were… well, he supposed they were friends. Not that he would _ever_ admit so out loud.

"_You_ adopted a kid?"

This time it was Green Arrow who had spoken, his face so filled with disbelief that it was humorous. Well, for anyone except the Batman. In fact, he found it rather irritating that everyone was so shocked about him accepting Richard into his home. They didn't know how that little acrobat had awakened feelings in Bruce that he had been certain had locked away forever.

"Yes," Bruce grumbled. "I adopted a child."

"When, how and most importantly, _why_?" Flash asked, eyes curious.

Batman studied the speedster, his jaw clenching lightly in annoyance. Nevertheless, he decided to answer. "Nine months ago," the Caped Crusader answered. "And how I did it should be pretty obvious. You signed a couple of adoption papers yourself three years ago, didn't you, Allen?"

A surprised expression took over the speedster's face before he averted his eyes. He could feel the shocked expressions of the rest of the League. Everyone knew Oliver and Dinah now had two kids, Roy and Artemis, who they had both adopted shortly after one another. The fact that Aquaman had also taken in an orphaned boy had also come to the League's attention. Martian Manhunter had brought one if his nieces to earth to raise her himself and Superman's son was, undoubtedly, no secret.

Yet, Flash had kept his adoption of Wally away from his teammates. Mostly, because he wasn't quite sure how to deal with the mixed feelings he had about the matter. Barry loved Wally; he loved his son. But biologically Wally was neither his nor Iris' and they had yet to tell him that. After the accident, they hadn't had the hearts to tell him of his true heritage and the guilt of those actions were practically eating him and his wife up from the inside.

How could they tell Wally he wasn't biologically _theirs_? How could they tell him that this father had wanted to kill him? And that his mother lay buried due to a car accident?

Batman seemed to heave read the speedster's thoughts. He passively said: "You didn't honestly think you could keep that secret from me, did you? The arrest of Rudolph West was all over the papers in Central City. Granted, not a first-page case, but still pretty noticable."

"I wasn't aware you read newspapers from _my_ hometown," Flash idly answered. He hated how disappointment shone in everyone's eyes. Bruce had only kept it from them for nine months, which was understandable. But Barry, he'd kept this secret for two whole years. It definitely explained how he had become a bit more serious those three years ago.

The Caped Crusader crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall behind him. "I check in on all of you more than you'd like to know."

Snorting, Barry turned his head away from everyone, fists clenching. "What happened is none of your business, Bruce."

"You and I both know it's wrong that he doesn't know."

"Of course it's wrong!" snarled Barry. "But I don't know what else to do!"

"How about the truth?" Batman grumbled.

"That'll kill him!" The speedster shook with anger. "He's just a _kid_. _My_ kid."

"Not biologically, he isn't."

"Well, neither is the one you just took in."

Bruce's eyes narrowed toward Barry whose demeanour gave away his inner struggles. He turned and walked up to the speedster, not all that pleased with the fact that said blond haired man had some height advantage. That was all he had though, Bruce was much more scarier and he knew it.

"Richard knows of his parents' deaths. He was there and I had to watch him cry over them, he _still_ cries over them. I don't lie to him, I never demanded for him to see me as his father, but he does and I am thankful for that. Your son deserves to know, if not the full truth then at least that you are not his biological dad." Batman withdrew his face from Barry's personal space and the other hero bit his lip.

Wonder Woman shifted a bit, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. "How about including us? We are not usually happy with being seated on the bleachers."

"You can start with telling _them_," Batman said, pointing lightly at the rest of the League standing various places in the room.

The guilt was almost overbearing, but Barry inhaled a shaky breath, let it out and then decided it was time. Time to spill out everything. He still held firmly on to the belief that Wally was not ready to know what Rudolph did to him, but telling his son that biologically they were not even related would be a start. Maybe, when he was older he could tell him of what happened that night.

For now, he would tell the League.

"As you know, my nephew, Wally, lost his mother in a car accident when he was three. And that…" Barry paused. "… that led his father to become… very abusive toward him. I always found Rudolph different, but I never thought he'd become such a monster by Mary's death. He even tried to separate my wife and I from Wally for a long time."

He felt their eyes on him; sympathy. But disappointment was still there, because he'd kept this from them, but he hadn't been able to talk about this. He hadn't been able to even talk to Iris about the matter. They had just went on with Wally and been happy. Well, excluding the shame both felt by the fact that Wally didn't know the truth. He still couldn't believe it took the big, 'ol Bat talk for him to understand this.

"One day, I decided I wasn't going to stand by and let Rudolph separate me from my nephew, so I went to get him." Barry swallowed; talking about it felt good, and yet his stomach churned whenever he thought over what _could _have happened. "Wally hadn't been fed, washed or anything for _days_. He had giant bruises on his arms and legs. Of course, I took him with me home."

Shakily, the Flash sat down in his personal chair in the room. He put a hand to his forehead, sighing. "That night Rudolph tried to murder his own son."

His fellow members' intake of breath was sharp the moment he said so. It could not be considered as gasping, but it wasn't far from it. "I saved him though, but… the experience traumatized Wally to the point that he developed two different memory disorders. In his mind Iris and I were his parents; everything else in his life was gone. It was as if he'd made his own reality."

"And you haven't told him, have you?" Canary whispered as she sat down beside him, her hand reaching out to squeeze Barry's.

"How can I, Dinah? He's just a child. How is he going to understand that everything he believes is a lie?"

"It takes the right kind of words," Dinah softly said, her hand serving her teammate another soft squeeze. She then folded her other hand around it as well, patting her fingers comfortingly against Barry's shaking palm. "But I know this, you _obviously_ love him and I'm sure, that he will still see you as his dad, even if you tell him you're not - _biologically_. You'd be surprised how meaningless that is to kids."

It helped hearing Dinah say so; it made Barry's shoulders relax a bit. He took another shaky intake of breath and then looked at her for the first time, serving her a small smile. "Trust me, Barry; this kid doesn't care who made him. He cares for the one who loves him."

**-o-**

Flash leaned over the railing put up before the glass, his eyes glancing into space. That meeting had gone from wanting to know more about Bruce's new kid to his own personal problems. He felt somewhat ashamed for that had occurred, but what they had said was comforting. It had given him the courage to call Iris. They would tell Wally tomorrow morning that he was not theirs, but he was still too young to know of his father's betrayal. He was too young to understand… So what would he do if the kid asked him where his birthparents were?

"What am I going to tell him?" Flash murmured subconsciously to himself.

"For the time being, you can say both Mary and Rudolph passed away in the car accident." Barry's head snapped to the side, surprised to see Oliver by his side, leaning over the same railing. It was then he noticed Batman and Superman as well. Wherever they had come from he had no idea. He cocked his head slightly to the side, whilst Green Arrow kept his eyes out, looking at the stars burning out there in space. "Don't you agree that's partly the truth? Kind of?"

Frowning lightly, Barry returned his eyes to the glass that made the Watchtower's windows. "How come?" he mumbled.

"You said the accident changed him. Maybe the real Rudolph West was lost the moment that car crashed." Green Arrow turned to look at him; their eyes met. Barry smiled sadly by the archer's words. He supposed even Oliver had to be wise at times.

"You're right," he admitted and then the speedster turned his back to the glass, his back leaning against the railing as he looked at Clark and Bruce. "Now that we have cleared my messed up mistakes. How about you tell us about the new addition to your family, Bats?"

That idiot's mood shifted more than a pregnant woman. At least in Batman's opinion. With a snort, he growled: "I don't seen what you need to know."

"Well, is he really the Flying Graysons' son?" Clark questioned with a frown. "Their so-called accident before the fire of Gotham was all over the papers."

"Yes, he is."

"Poor kid," Oliver commented. "Losing one's parents is hard enough. Seeing them die… that shouldn't be wished on anybody."

Oh did Bruce know. That was mainly the reason for making Richard his adopted son. That boy deserved someone who understood; he needed people around him who saw who _he was_, saw his potential and pain. Bruce had intended to be that person the moment he understood Richard had lost everything and so far the boy seemed to be coping far better than Bruce ever had. His progress was truly comforting for the Caped Crusader.

"You look different."

This comment gained Bruce's attention. He raised an eyebrow at Barry's interesting observation. "Is that so?" he spoke, his voice as apathetic as usual.

"Now, that Flash mentions it, you _do_ look kind of different." Superman squinted his eyes, trying hard to understand what could possibly make him see Bruce in a different light. There was no costume change, no smile – just like usual – or any new gear either. He was the man with tons of different visions; he would have _seen_.

"Yeah…" Green Arrow pulled lightly in his blond beard. "… are you brighter than usual?"

"That's ridiculous," Batman growled.

"Nooo… Arrow's got a point," acknowledged Barry. The speedster's head tilted to the side even more as he studied the Bat before them and then, suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Hey, you walk more… upright. It makes you look fresher. _Happier_."

Hearing this just made Batman continue to growl; he averted his eyes from them, not wanting to hear more. He hadn't thought his recent happy mood would show this noticeably. Then again, he couldn't help it.

Dick… that little boy had made everything brighter for him. Waking up every morning was not done just for the sake of fighting crime anymore. He woke up to make sure that little kid ate something different than Lucky Charms, he woke up every morning to hear Dick's excited giggles as he told him of his adventures, he woke up every morning to train him and teach. He woke up every morning for those constant hugs and hearing him say that word that warmed his heart more than anything ever could.

"_Daddy, Daddy, look what I drew!"_

"_Daddy, can I have more juice?"_

"_Daddy, can I watch TV? Will you do to?"_

"_Daddy, Daddy, can I see when you train?"_

"_Can I sit in the Batmobile, Daddy?"_

Yeah, that one word. He never got tired of hearing it.

Had anyone mentioned he would love fatherhood this much months ago he would have found it absolutely ridiculous. He was a loner back then and could simply not imagine ever loving a child like he now did with Richard.

Deciding that he didn't need his friends to observe him more than they already had, Batman turned on his heels. He didn't bid his goodbyes, because they would know where he was headed. Back to Gotham. Back home.

"Hey, Bats!" Barry called. "When will we get to meet this kid of yours?"

The Dark Knight froze in his tracks, eyes widening slightly, before he scowled from the corner of his eye. There was no way he would let his son close to them. The influence his colleagues could have on pure, lovable Richard… Oh no, he would _not_ – just _not_ – let his son near them.

Which, of course, was why he turned and sneered a "_Never!_" in their direction.

Batman didn't feel he was taken completely seriously, however, when all they did was either grinning or smirking at him. With a final growl, he turned and thereafter headed for the hangar for his plane, hoping that when he got home there would be no extra duties as the Batman.

Right now, Bruce Wayne just wanted some well-deserved sleep.

Luckily for him, Gotham had remained quiet all night and it didn't change when he landed inside the hangar of his own beloved cave. There he ripped the cowl of his head the exact moment his feet touched the ground, exposing the tired face of the Dark Knight. He sighed out, pinched the bridge of his nose for a brief second, before a happy voice rang throughout the cave and caught his attention.

"Daddy!"

Bruce raised his head, and smirked a bit as his eyes landed on Richard, the little boy jumping excitedly up and down as Bruce approached him. Said child was dressed in his black, one-piece pyjama, complete with a hood with fashionable bat-ears. Bruce still remembered how proud the boy had looked when he'd told him that he and Alfred had sewed them on. To say the little acrobat looked adorable would have been an understatement.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Bruce asked his light smirk never faltering as Richard leaped and latched himself onto the caped man's waist. The four-year-old's legs wrapped around his thighs again, but they were too short to make it all around.

Pouting by the lack of response, Dick reluctantly let go of his adoptive father. "Alfred said I could!" he whined whilst Bruce took hold of him and held him tightly in his arms.

"If I recall correctly, I told you that you were allowed to stay up until ten O'clock, _not_ specifically until Master Bruce returned." Both masters of Wayne manor turned to look as Alfred made his way into the cave, arms firmly crossed and a slightly irritated expression marring his face.

Bruce put on an expression to match. "Richard," he said in a serious tone. "Did you sneak in here again without permission from Alfred?"

The kid averted his gaze, the pout still there. Seeing this was all the answer Bruce needed and it made him sigh. Sometimes he pondered about whether he should start tying his son to the bed or not. "Richard…" he sighed.

"But, Daddy…" the kid groused childishly.

"No 'but', Dick." Bruce took his index finger under the boy's chin, raising it so that their eyes met. He noticed the young child was tempted to look away, but Dick was aware that billionaire would not have anything of it when he was like this. "You need to listen to Alfred. You hear me, Dick?"

The child bit his lip and pouted, clearly upset when he understood fully that he had behaved badly. He rested his forehead against his father's chest, fingers curling around the cape that hung from Bruce's shoulders. "I'm sorry…" he apologized silently, his hold tightening on the cape in a desperate grasp. "But I wanted to see you. I miss you when you go away and always come back late."

Hearing this broke Bruce's hear. He exchanged a knowing glance with Alfred and both came to a silent agreement. Punishing Dick for this felt rather unethical, and truth to be told, the boy usually didn't fall asleep before Bruce entered his room to see him for the night either way. True, the boy was often asleep, but Alfred knew Dick forced himself to stay up as much as possible and sometimes it was enough for him to be awake when Bruce was done with patrol or League business.

"If I may, Master Bruce," Alfred spoke up. "I didn't find time to give him a bath today, with the preparation for the Wayne Foundation's charity ball time simply passed me unnaturally fast. Since you are going to get cleaned yourself, maybe taking Richard at the same time would be a good idea."

Seeing an opportunity for being with his adoptive father longer, Dick eagerly nodded his head up and down, saying quite enthusiastically that he wanted to take a bath. This was quite unusual from what boys his age would do, but Dick was a different kid and Bruce preferred him that way – different in every good way possible; so smart, so filled with tremendous potential.

"All right, Dick, let's get you cleaned up," Bruce spoke, smiling only slightly for his precious son as he placed Dick in a chair whilst he removed his costume. Alfred accepted it the moment Bruce was left in the thin leotard he kept underneath and then the Dark Knight and his ward headed for Bruce's private bathroom.

Dick chatted endlessly, happy that his adoptive father was finally present. It had been a hard week and Bruce understood why the boy was so eager to see him. He really wished he could have been around more this week, but hopefully he would make up for it the coming days. At least at daytime.

"Hey, Daddy?" Dick said as Bruce turned on the tub, readying the hot water.

"Yes, Dick?"

The little boy climbed skilfully up by the sink with a grin, his eyes sweeping over the giant tub; there were many oversized tubs in the manor, but the one in Bruce's private bathroom was the biggest. "Can we take a bath together? _Pleeease…_ you can show me how to swim!"

This made a light chuckle escape the Dark Knight; it was deep and comforting, reminding Dick of his biological dad's laugh. That was probably why he had trusted Bruce so fast, why he felt so at home with the Caped Crusader. It was a similarity between Bruce and his deceased dad, despite that they, personality wise, were very unlike. Naturally, a four-year-old (soon five) didn't see this himself, but he would, most likely, when he got older.

"All right, but I doubt I can teach you how to swim. The tub might be big, but it is not _that_ big," Bruce sighed, too tired to protest and too busy being pleased with the atmosphere to care. He usually liked taking a baths on his own; it was an old habit from an early age and before Dick it had been an indomitability that he was left alone when cleaning himself. After all, it was only he and Alfred present in the manor at the time.

He lowered Dick down into the water and watched mildly amused as they boy lunged for the bathing salt and a bath foam bottle shaped as a bright pink piglet. Bruce had asked (because he had actually been the one to buy it, along with Dick who had gleamed so thrillingly when they had) why exactly _that one_. There was a perfectly fine, yellow duck, a teddy and even a cow, but no, Dick wanted the piglet.

When the boy told him why, however, he had understood. Apparently, the Dick's mother had used to tease him about being as messy as a piglet and then soaped him in when giving him a bath. Seeing the piglet shaped bottle had made the boy happy because it reminded him of his mother. And who was Bruce to deny his light in life such a gift? Thus, they had bought many piglet shaped bath foam bottles.

Dick had been overjoyed, naturally.

Bruce entered the tub whilst Dick was busy spreading the bathing foam. The billionaire made sure he didn't overdo it and then ordered the boy to come to him. Dick placed the piglet bottle away and instead grabbed his Superman shampoo. This one, Bruce had not been present when bought. He surely would have stopped it if he had; Superman merchandise did not belong in the Batman's household.

"Hey, Daddy? Did you fight a bad guy today? You and the League? When will I meet them? Can I see Superman soon? Why have you been so busy lately? Does the other heroes have kids?" The boy questioned, hardly taking a single breath-break in-between his hurried words in wonder.

The Caped Crusader, now used to his son's frequent questions, decided to simply massage the shampoo gently into his son's dark locks, whilst the boy absently played with the foam around him in a silent manner. Then Bruce answered: "No, today I was simply attending a meeting with the League, Dick. I fought Killer Croc before I headed to the HQ, however. I won't let you meet them… for a while…"

At this Dick pouted. "Why?" the boy asked.

Bruce cleared his throat subconsciously. "Because. Maybe when you're older…"

"But!"

"No buts… I'll maybe make an exception for Superman. _Maybe_."

"… okay."

Pleased that his son was not putting up a tiring fight, Bruce continued to wash him, Dick going along with it; partly due to he was exhausted, no doubt. When he was sure his child was good and clean, Bruce let Dick go from his hold so the little acrobat could scout after his bathing toys. As the boy occupied him with them, Bruce was finally able to wash himself, the sponge trailing his big muscles, and well-toned chest as he tried to ignore the aching.

After so many years in his field, one got used to it, but it still hurt and especially when the warm water consumed his sore, numb body. Therefore, he always appreciated baths and yet dreaded them at the same time. Because when he started relaxing he first realised how much strain he'd put on his very _human_ body.

He grimaced a bit when he noticed a wound underneath his wrist. It was not bleeding, but was till red and inflamed. His fingers lingered over the wound, another addition to the scars already roaming his body. He didn't know why he looked at the wound for so long, when it was simply another mark Killer Croc had granted him. He was surprised, though, when a small hand came into view, covering the wound.

Dark eyes glanced up from the injury to Dick, who was frowning at the inflamed wound. The boy was biting his lip and then grabbed the sponge determinedly from his adoptive father. Bruce felt touched, _warm_, when Dick rubbed the sponge lightly against the torn flesh, as if to clean it just like Alfred used to.

The proud feeling that swelled up inside of him was almost too much to bear. Bruce put his hand on Dick's head, stroking the wet hair. What had he possibly done to deserve such a wondrous boy? Without him, he doubted he would be the person he currently was. And all after nine months of having Richard with him.

"Thanks, champ," he murmured, gaining a brilliant smile from Dick, who still seemed a bit concerned about the injury.

The boy's look turned puzzled, however, when Bruce leaned over and gently kissed his forehead. The billionaire did not do so too often, well not always when Dick had _seen_. He had, in fact, done it rather frequently when the boy had been asleep though. Now, Bruce allowed himself to show it; Dick deserved to know he was loved.

Since the boy continued to smile, Bruce was sure he'd expressed his feelings adequately.

**-o-**

Central City, 2003

"Wally, dear! Come down here for a few minutes!" Iris Allen called, her hand gently cradled within her husband's as they seated themselves in the sofa. She was afraid to lose that hold that gave her so much support; this hand reminded her that this was something they had to do. A part of her wished they could keep going on like they'd done for three years, with no questions, no complications. Yet, Iris was a reasonable woman, a _fair_ one, so she did not doubt that they were doing the right thing.

They heard the thumps of the six-year-old Wally W. Allen as he made himself downstairs with a speed that matched his father's. It had been a nightmare when the lightning had struck a stormy night in 2001; Barry had simply shown his son how he, himself, became the Flash when said lightning had come crashing the moment they were done. It was mysterious and creepily ironic, how the Flash's own son had been drenched in the same substance as he had been all those years ago the exact moment a lightening came flashing.

Wally was only a child – a five-year-old little boy. Barry and Iris had been terrified and had transported him to the hospital as fast possible. Their boy had barely survived and that only a year after the drama involving Rudolph West. As they had stayed in the hospital no changes had occurred except for the injuries the lighting had brought with. However, once they arrived home things had started to happen.

Suddenly, Wally had started moving fast. Noticeably quicker than usual, that is. It didn't take a genius to understand that the same the accident had given Wally the same powers his father had been served. It was meant to be. Those sort of accidents didn't happen out of the blue. There was probably one in a billion who could experience something of the like.

Barry and Iris had done what they could to help Wally to get used to his new powers. He was just a child, so Barry had used long hours a day to teach his boy how to handle the super-speed. What had baffled him beyond compare was Wally's natural behaviour toward what had happened. It pained Barry to admit that it was as if the boy had been born for speed.

Now, after nearly two years, Wally had completely mastered to turn his powers off, but nothing more. His dad had ordered him not to use it unless they were together. Wally, knowing the seriousness of him obeying this order, hadn't gone against his father's demands. He was happy though and was allowed to use it to clean the rooms, to lay the table and so forth. Housework had definitely gone faster in the Allen household ever since.

They watched their boy step into the living room, his face smiling until it faltered when he took a look at his parents' pained expressions. Hiding their raging feelings was hard now that they were going to finally tell. Finally let Wally know the truth. _Somewhat_.

Barry tightened his hold on Iris' hand, before he reached out the other and waved Wally to him. The redheaded boy scanned them up and down, before he moved toward his dad, for so crawl into his lap. Emerald green eyes so like his own, yet was not of him, looked up at Barry, confused by their solemn looks.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Iris inhaled a shaky breath, but her look was determined. She reached out her hand, let the fingers curl themselves into her son's mass of red hair and then said: "Your dad and I have something we need to tell you, okay, sweetie? Something really, really important."

The boy didn't answer, just kept his head slightly tilted, wondering what had gotten his parents so serious and grim. Iris took her little boy's hands in her own, stroking them as he looked at her. She smiled sincerely and then whispered: "You remembered that you have been sick right? That you went to the hospital three years ago?"

He nodded unsure, and Barry decided to continue: "When you were sick you thought things… things that weren't all true…" the hero inhaled and exhaled, before he took his son and hoisted him closer to himself, their eyes staring right into each other. Wally understood that whatever they were going to tell was more serious than anything they had ever told.

"Wally, you have…" Barry paused, then said: "Two mommies and two daddies."

Hearing this, the boy's eyes widened, so full of pure bewilderment. He looked at his mommy and then to his daddy, before he said: "But… how can I have two? Two mommies and two daddies?"

"Because, sweetie, your _real_ mom and dad were lost in a car accident when you were three," Iris finally said, her voice sad when she touched her son's cheek, a reassurance of her love and care for her child. "I'm your daddies sister, so we got to take you home so we could be your new mommy and daddy."

Explaining the situation was hard for them, especially since they were telling this to a six-year-old. He looked from one to another, trying hard to understand and yet there were so many things he couldn't fully comprehend, things he couldn't fathom no matter how much he tried. In his reality _they_ were his parents and he hadn't heard of anyone with two mommies and two daddies before. Being told this made him feel sad and worried that they were saying he wasn't where he belonged. It made him scared, made him insecure and concerned beyond compare.

"Y-you're not… my mommy?" he whispered, eyes now tearing up.

Gripped by panic, Iris took him to her, not even realising how much the boy was being moved around at this moment. She hugged him tight and rocked him back and forth. "Oh no sweetie," she said, her voice soft and loving. "I'm your mommy, but I didn't… I wasn't the one who made you, okay? You asked where babies came from and I told you mommy and daddies make them, so I didn't… _make_ you, but you're my baby, my prince and nothing is going to change that. You understand that, Wally?"

The freckled little speedster nodded a bit, snuggling close to his mother's warmth. "This will make more sense when you grow and get older, but you're our son, Wally," Barry spoke, his hand on the boy's back as he stroked warmly. "We love you, and no matter who made you, you are still ours, kiddo. If you want us."

"I love you too, Mommy," Wally whispered, pulling a bit away. "And you, Daddy."

"Just remember, Wally," Iris said, her finger poking his nose in hope of lightening the mood, if only a little. "That one can have many mommy and daddies as long as they love that person."

"But… I don't need anymore mommy and daddies." Wally frowned. "I have you."

"Yes, but… it's important you know that we adopted you," Iris said, her hand stroking through the vivid red hair. "Because when you become bigger you would want to know and would want that we were honest with you. You remember what we said about being honest, right?"

"Always tell the truth."

The two adults nodded their heads, both hugging him tightly to them as the little family of three snuggling close into the couch. Wally had gone quiet, his head, without a doubt, filled with thoughts – thoughts that needed to settle. And while new questions came, Iris and Barry answered.

The truth was finally out.

**-o-**

The Watchtower was silent with only the four of them being present. Aquaman had just walked past them, having intentions to return back to Atlantis, which he had been granted permission to. Crime had been unusually low lately, which, naturally, had Batman suspicious. The Gothamite had no intentions of being attacked whilst being off guard, thus he still wanted the four of them to be on alert while the Leaguers were out. Flash and Superman seemed impatient, Green Arrow tired and Batman was just determined. Nothing new, really.

Flash shifted a bit uncomfortably, his gaze going to the clock more than Batman appreciated. He knew that waiting for the time they usually headed home was almost unbearable for a speedster, especially one who had a son and wife to return to, but it could not be helped. If it had been up to Bruce himself (which it wasn't; justice made the rules, not him), he would have been sitting back home with Dick tugging on his sleeve. He had promised to read for him once he returned home. It would be the highpoint of his, unusually, tedious day.

"Conner has been asking about Richard and Wally," Superman spoke up, breaking the silence that had been lurking around in the monitor room far longer than necessary. This gained Batman and Flash's attention. Reading their expressions was kind of hard, but Batman's seemed to promise indignation more than any happiness.

"I wasn't aware he knew of them," Batman grunted out, his voice expressing how much he disliked this new revelation.

Clark subconsciously scratched the back of his neck. "Well, as you know, GA and Aquaman introduced Artemis, Roy and Kaldur to Conner a while ago, so we just, kind of, mentioned that you two had kids as well."

The Dark Knight felt the annoyance increase. He did not like to hear about how Clark had just mentioned his son on a mere whim. Then again, the Kryptonian was a trustworthy… colleague, so he supposed it was not something he should get too worked up over. That was easier said than done though; the thought of Dick being influenced in any dangerous way kind of scared him. A _lot_.

"So, what's he asking about?" Flash absently inquired whilst he looked down to study his hands, as if something nearly invisible was tainting the red fabric.

"Meeting them."

Barry blinked and seemed like he was on the verge of answering, but Batman interrupted any words before they even made it to the surface. "Not happening," the Caped Crusader firmly said.

"What? Why not?" Superman frowned. The Kryptonian failed to see the crime in letting the kids meet up. The play date with Arrow's kids and Aquaman's adopted son had gone splendidly, so why would Richard and Wally meeting them be any different?

"Because Richard is a four-year-old child."

"- soon five," Flash short in subtly.

The Dark Knight glared heatedly at him, before continuing. "I try to prevent him from entering my superhero life as much as possible; that's why," retorted the Batman as he let his eyes wander off to the keyboard he was seated up against. "I even wish he didn't find out I was the Batman, but at least he now knows why I tend to be so busy and that I'm not just plainly ignoring him."

Green Arrow raised an eyebrow. "He's a sensitive one, isn't he?"

"Yes," Batman growled, eyes challenging Arrow to even hint one bad thing about his son. Had he not been so defensive when it came to Dick, he would have noticed that Oliver had no intentions of doing anything of the sort.

Superman lifted his hands in a soothing manner, attempting to calm Batman down somewhat. The Dark Knight was unusually riled up. And this was the crime-fighter who commonly kept his cool. "Relax, Bruce. Conner just wished to meet them, but if you're not up for that, we won't insist."

Bruce didn't reply. A part of him felt he was acting unreasonable, whilst the other felt he did the right thing to keep his son safe from his superhero life. Yet, he could not help but wonder how long it would take before Dick insisted on doing the same as he did. The kid was dangerously interested in his work and his soul so compassionate for justice and righteousness.

"Why interested in Wally?" Flash silently questioned, but he knew the answer. Batman had known, hence the others Leaguers had been informed. That Barry had suspected a long time ago.

"Don't play dumb, Barry. Your son's powers are another thing you've kept from us." Green Arrow's voice was rather harsh and Barry knew he deserved it. He shouldn't have kept so much from them – they were his friends more than anyone else ever could be – but his protectiveness over Wally had kept him from it. He loathed the day that had given Wally the same powers as him; the redhead shouldn't be involved with this superhero stuff. It was too dangerous. Especially for a kid.

And yet, Barry knew Wally would want to become like him. So, he could either step back and tear his relationship with his son apart due to fighting – for not to mention that Wally would most likely hurt himself playing hero on his own. _Or_ Barry could teach him. That would keep the child safer, no doubt.

"I can't stop him from wanting to become like me, can I?" Barry murmured.

"Just as I can't stop Conner from wanting to become like me," Superman pointed out, voice serious.

"But your kid's indestructible, Clark!" Barry extracted his arms in frustration. "My kid's a fast runner, but that speed of his is dangerous. And he's so _young_."

"No one said we'd allow them _yet_." Superman's eyes were thoughtful. "But one day. And the least we can do up until that point is letting them know each other, and practice."

As much as Batman hated to admit it, Superman was absolutely right. Dick was a human and that was reason enough for Bruce to deny him ever becoming like him, but the boy would head out anyway. He would fight with the little knowledge of acrobatics he had, even. So, as Bruce saw it, he two options. Let Dick get killed in the crusade of crime fighting or train him so that he could protect himself when he was not around to watch out for him.

Sighing, Bruce crossed his arms, his mind wandering over to the time ahead.

"Wouldn't it just have been easier if we put all superkids in one place?" Flash absently wondered out loud. "Like… in a day-care or something?"

Silence emitted in the room. Barry felt eyes on him and therefore he quickly turned his head. The look in his colleagues' eyes was hard to interpret. He hadn't seen such expressions on them before.

"What?" Barry asked.

"You might have stumbled upon something there." Superman rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I think so."

The Man of Steel smiled and Batman was pretty certain an idea was forming inside that hard, Kryptonian head.

* * *

><p><strong>THE END<strong>

**-o-**

_And so the events of "Child's Play" takes place afterwards! Guys, do me the honour and favour by reviewing the last chapter of "Child's Mind". Now, I have an important announcement. This universe of mine has become like a baby to me, so I hereby declare that I will make more ficlets that belongs into this universe, if people wish so._

_Thus, there will be companion pieces, sequels and so forth, if the interest is high. When, I don't know, but if you want to assure yourself that you do not miss them put me on _**author alert**. _I want to warn people that I do not only write for this universe, or just mentor and _protégé_ stories, overall, but if you see something I post that you know you won't read then just skip over it. Writing about mentors and their protégés like this has become so much fun and I will do more!_

_Please review! :)_


End file.
